


Darke's Menagerie

by igraine1419



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 10:21:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 57,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/igraine1419/pseuds/igraine1419
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Victorian gothic AU. When a touring circus of wonders arrives, Sean finds himself bewitched.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_It is always the same set of passages, the same sounds of clicking, crunching and grinding, and always the winding dark, his feet striking on the stone stairs. On his way in or out, making progress deep into the heart of the mill, where cold mechanisms worked on relentlessly. You might imagine that no human hand turned the handles and the wheels, that it had a mind of its own and its own hard intent. As he draws closer, the noise increases, filling his ears and making his heart stutter and jolt. It is a passionless striking, a mindless motion that will stop for no one. He knows it so well, he remembers what key unlocked what door, as though he has possession of a terrible treasure of his own making. He is coming closer to the heart of the machine - his own heart stutters and jolts, stutters and jolts, stutters and jolts…_

Waking with a start, his hands covering his ears, the sheets wound about his legs as if he had been struggling against some kind of assailant, Sean’s heart pounded and it took some minutes for him to gather himself; fragments of reality slowly asserting themselves one by one. 

Sounds were slight, each one individually marked, the rustling of the ivy against the window glass, the persistent trilling song of a black bird, the clinking of the milk pail by the back door, the hushed voices of Mrs Briar and the dairy man from the back step, the soft air carrying their words as lightly as leaves. The sound of Catherine moving in the next room, walking and leaning and throwing open the sash. Each sound was marked as he roused his disordered mind, sitting up in bed and looking about him in disorientation, beginning to remember. 

When he first arrived, a mere two weeks previously, he had been disturbed by the silences. At night, alone in his bed, he would feel the darkness as palpably as if a crowd had gathered around him there. His mind would feel its way around the room, circling aimlessly and then looking out over the sleeping cottages and farmsteads and off over the hills to where the trees stood in solemn watch, their dark limbs moving to and fro. So much space, so much silence after such a press of noise and life! It seemed a frightening thing, an open book full of empty pages, for such had his own life become, now he had shrugged it off and walked away. 

However there was some comfort to be had in this new, empty world. There was space for his own private devotions, time to sit at peace and think and will his mind to open to the realm of the spiritual and the remote. Sometimes he would sit for hours in this way, letting out the darkness and willing in the light, listening for voices, making sense from the clamour of his own mind, pulling out the individual, tiny threads one by one. Some voices were known to him, had been with him for many years, their faces and their speech grown murky as if beneath a film of dirt and dust. Others had only come to him in this place, and these he believed to be part of the fabric of the cottage itself, and the countryside which surrounded it, for they knew their way through a keyhole or by the skirting where the wood had split. He found these in the chiming of the church clock and the screeching of the barn owl in the night. Most were comforting to hear, others alarmed him, reminding him of the darkness in his own soul and the repentance he sought, they were stern, unwilling to grant him their presence, their spirits like clenched fists, spilling thin and broken light.

A tapping on the door brought him to himself and he unclenched his hands from the bedclothes and called out permission to enter. 

‘Sorry to disturb you, Mister Astin, sir.’ The young housemaid, Lucy, looked at the floor, as she hurriedly set down the pitcher of warm water on the dressing table beside the basin, chiming the porcelain a little. Her hands must have been trembling. Brushing them down on her apron, she asked if he would like her to pour. Sean shook his head and stammered ‘no, no, there’s no need.’ Bobbing, Lucy left the room in haste, nearly catching her skirts in the door as she shut it fast behind her. 

It would take her a while to get used to his presence in the house. Usually there was only Catherine to wait on, a young widow and childless, her needs were few. The house ran by a set of routines; the eating of meals, the receiving of visitors, of reading, of writing and of prayers. Sean had come amongst it and caused it to vibrate. His solitude and strange hours, his habit of sitting up late at night burning up candles was remarked on. Although, if his sister became aware of any such tattling, she would stamp it out as sharply as an ember on the hearthrug and then the whisperings would drift into the street. Many more visitors had come to call since Mr Astin had taken up residence with his sister, after so many years absence and with such a great fortune on his shoulders. Many brought their unwed daughters, others just came to pry and question why Mr Astin should have given up all that wealth and property to come to this quiet backwater and sit in his sister’s back room gazing at the sky. Many thought he had come to take his sister back with him to the city, but she showed no signs of straying from her usual routines and departures were never mentioned. 

There was talk that his mind had turned queer. But that opinion was soon dashed by those who had spent time in his very convivial company. He was smartly dressed, courteous and softly spoken, as true a gentleman as you could wish to meet, they said. The only oddity being his reluctance to make calls and a tendency to melancholy. 

Sean rose late these days, enjoying the unaccustomed luxury of spreading out on the warm sheets watching the sun slowly creeping over the bed, only stirring when it reached his cheek. By the time he rose the water in the pitcher had usually grown cold. Catherine would make certain that breakfast had been kept warm for him and the table was left ready. As he breakfasted, she would already have been up for many hours and be in the middle of her routine of needlework beside the parlour fireside, it being her habitual place at this hour despite the warmth of the season. She would sit as easily beside a cold grate as she would a hearty blaze, never straying far from her exacting routines. Sean wondered how she could bear to have him here, breaking her patterns and upsetting the balance of the house, but she was such a good, kind creature he knew in his heart that she would never turn him out, no matter what demons he brought with him, clinging to his coat tails like so many invisible sprites.

After breakfasting in silence, listening to the music of the domestic objects around him, the chiming of his delicate spoon against the side of the fine, translucent cup and saucer, the cracking of the egg, the steady thunk-thunk of the pendulum clock on the wall, brought over from Holland and painted all over with pastoral scenes of sowing and reaping and the phases of the moon. At its summit the full moon hung, glowing and smiling eerily at him as he eat his buttered bread and finished off his tea. It was very gloomy in the breakfast room, even though it was the height of summer and the birds were singing in the apple trees in the garden just a few feet away beyond the thick stone wall. 

Sean had asked his sister if she found it chill, but she only smiled and shook her head, remarking that it kept in the peace and that was what she preferred. Sean wondered if she was terribly lonely, but she showed no outward signs of it, betraying only a kind of passive suffering, gladly borne. Where Sean’s heart seemed to talk endlessly, aching and questioning, hers seemed almost entirely mute and at peace. Sometimes he envied her for it, although sitting with her in the parlour as she sewed diligently, he would struggle with restless limbs and straying thoughts, barely able to keep from pacing the floor, turning the pages of his book without making sense of the words upon them. 

So it was with some relief that and a certain measure of surprise, that he looked up to the sound of her voice saying his name. 

‘Sean?’

‘What is it, Catherine?’ he replied, sliding the thin ribbon between the pages of his book and closing it.

‘The day is set remarkably fair,’ she continued absently, looking towards the small leaded window, which let in little of the beauty of the summer’s day. ‘Mrs Briar has been out in the garden laundering and on her return she exclaimed that it is the warmest morn that has dawned all year and the wind is very sweet to breathe.’

Sean smiled, pleased to see an excitement stirring in his sister’s eyes. ‘Would you care to walk out with me?’ he asked, sitting forward on his chair, eager to feel that warmth on his face. ‘Perhaps we might follow the lane to the church, it seems a pleasant way.’

Catherine turned her head a little, as if her mind was elsewhere. ‘I had thought of walking to the water meadow…I know it is a little further, but I was informed that there is a travelling fair of sorts….I am afraid I know little of what it may be, but there has been talk of shows and stalls and refreshments and it seemed to be a merry thought. I haven’t been to a fair since we were children and I bought those pretty painted hair combs and you won the little bird in a cage, do you remember, Sean?’

Sean’s smile spread to his eyes as he recalled the memory, ‘Yes, I remember it well!’ he laughed. ‘It was a goldfinch, a very fine fellow with scarlet cheeks. We would feed it crumbs of bread and cheese from the table and he would knock a little bell that would chime as he tapped it with his beak. I fear he had a short life.’

‘Poor Sean, how you cried!’ Catherine exclaimed, rising to her feet and walking over to the window. ‘I almost wished you had lost the game and never won the prize for all the pain it brought you.’

‘It was worth it though, Cathy, to hear it singing in the mornings.’ Sean rose also and stood watching the change in his sister. 

Turning back into the room, there was a hectic flush to Catherine’s cheeks. ‘Will you come?’ she asked, a little anxiously, ‘Whatever it might be?’

‘But of course!’ Sean affirmed. ‘It sounds like a wonderful idea.’ If it gives you such pleasure, Sean thought to himself silently.

‘I don’t know what my friends will think!’ Catherine laughed nervously, ‘Carousing with gypsies!’ 

‘Are none of your acquaintances to be there?’

Catherine looked amazed, ‘Mrs Stanton at the fair?’

‘Well and why not?’ Sean asked.

‘She would rather be hauled up in the stocks on the village green! And what Mrs Stanton decrees is as good as law amongst our set. I have a reputation to uphold.’ 

Sean laughed. ‘I will claim it was all my idea, should we meet anyone on the road.’ He looked at her with gravely and said, ‘Whatever makes you happy, Catherine.’ 

Catherine nodded nervously. ‘Then I will fetch my walking things.’

~ ~ ~

The heat of the day rose to greet them as they stepped out of the front door, Catherine wrapped in a light muslin shawl and Sean in his summer coat and hat, and the finest gloves he owned of a pale kid leather. Catherine took his arm, and holding a lace parasol above their heads, stepped out in the street. She wore a dark gown for such a hot day and was already commenting on how fiercely the sun struck through the shadowing pattern of lace.

Most of the residents of the main street were in their cool dark parlours, taking their elevenses, and so many did not see the young widow and her brother walking to the fair. 

Sean embraced the summer day like a long-lost friend, raising his face to the hot breeze, inhaling the heady, almost-rank fragrance of Willow herb gone to seed in the high green hedges that bordered the winding road out of the village, their wispy white heads caught up in the brambles like clumps of sheep’s wool. The sky was a vibrant, cloudless blue and the leaves a verdant green, so bright it seemed to pierce his eyes and as he looked at it and he was, for a moment, bewildered that such loveliness could still exist in a world which contained such darkness. Their beauty seemed almost to blank out that other world altogether as though it couldn’t possibly have been, and for a moment Sean was lost, caught up in the warmth and the sweetness of the day and the light pressure of his sister’s arm threaded through his; a curious and wonderful thing, long hoped for. 

There was little conversation between them even now, his sister had seemed reluctant to question him about his reasons for leaving the city and his position at the mill, only accepting his presence calmly and with little animation. She had a piece of needlework in her bedroom hanging over her bed - _As God decrees, so it shall be._

Although they were quiet with each other now, Sean felt a subtle difference in his sister, an agitation in Catherine’s limbs as they hastened down the lane, her fingers tightening on his arm. Beneath the neat little steps was a breathlessness borne not simply out of the fear of discovery, but from the idea of embarking on something forbidden.

‘Shall they have hoopla, do you think?’ She asked, as they turned the last corner. ‘Perhaps you might win yourself another bird!’

They stopped short abruptly, staring down into the valley, where the fields rolled down to the river and the pasture that surrounded it, given over to the travelling folk since the charter. Usually this land was bare and green and flat, but this day it was transformed. Not only were there stalls and games and merry-go-rounds, but pens where animals might be admired and birds chained to wooden stakes, and beyond them large wagons and tents emblazoned with brightly coloured signs and swags, shouting lurid slogans to the ambling passers by. Sean was drawn to these, as some of them were highly decorative and strange, illustrations of the wonders within covering the sides of the tents and the vehicles. Horses stamped nearby, chewing the cropped grass and to one side was a small bear, howling and tugging and binding itself in a chain, everything suspended in a thick black cloud of steam. 

‘Oh!’ Catherine gasped, looking down over the thronging scene. 

Sean felt her tremble and pressed her arm gently. ‘Would you like to walk back?’ he said, considerately, although his own heart was hammering with excitement.

She said nothing for a moment, only looked and looked. There were many people below wandering around the stalls and yet more taking refreshment in the tents, fanning themselves with folded papers as they wilted in the mid-day sun. 

‘The sun is very strong…’ Sean added. 

‘We are lucky,’ Catherine said, gazing ahead with a determined look in her eye. ‘Our complexions are not fair, we shall not burn.’

‘You want to go on?’ 

‘Yes,’ she breathed, stepping down into the pasture. ‘Yes I do.’

‘Well then we shall,’ Sean said, following her lead, his bright shoes sinking into long, thick spongy grass. 

The nearer they came to the fair, the cacophony of sound increased in volume. Shouts and laughter and a hundred conversations were mingled with the bursting, strident noise of the stands and the piping of the organ. Stallholders shouted their wares and ride keepers, the price. A woman wandered the field with trays of lemonade and beer, and sang out for passers by to try. Catherine walked closer to Sean’s side, tucking herself in beneath her parasol shyly as the woman called her way. Sean tipped his hat to her. She scowled and moved on, noting their fine dress. Many others noticed too and looked their way, moving apart as they passed, whispering. 

They stood for a moment beside a pen of birds of prey and Catherine pointed out all the species she knew and remarked on how she had been painting them for her book, a nature journal she worked on in the evenings by candlelight. Sean remarked that the beautiful, wild birds looked sad tethered there, beating their wings without hope of release, but Catherine only smiled and moved on, staring at the rough folk around her, as if they too, were marvellous to her. Some lads shouted something course as she passed and Sean moved instinctively to shield her, suggesting they go and seat themselves for refreshments. Catherine agreed her throat was quite dry, and so went happily to the long white tent and sat down daintily at an empty table close by the side of the tent whilst Sean queued up for lemonade and tea and cake.

The second tent, alongside, was selling ale and Sean could hear the roars of the men and women who supped within vibrating through the thin fabric of the tent. As he carried the tray of tea things to the table, the form of a staggering man bulged through, close against where Catherine sat, as though he had been roughly pushed, his ale splashing down the side of the tent. Catherine made no remark, only flinched a little and looked away. Laying down the tea things, Sean sat down opposite his sister and took off his hat, ruffling the chestnut hair beneath. It never seemed to sit straight and was worse than ever today with the heat from the day making it curl up unhappily around his ears. 

Catherine sipped her tea and took small bites of the moist lemon cake Sean had procured for her and as she ate, her eyes roved the faces around her restlessly. Drinking his lemonade, Sean sat back and watched her silently, wondering once again why she had come to a place where she seemed so ill at ease. He wanted to ask her and yet something made him keep a still tongue. There came another roar from the tent wall beside them and Sean cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

‘Would you like to take another turn about the field?’ he asked. 

Catherine was playing with her cake fork, turning it in her hand as she looked at the people queuing for teas at the other end of the tent. She shook her head, ‘No, it is too warm in the sun, I think I would rather sit here.’

It was growing hot in the tent, beneath the canvas the packed-in bodies in their stuffy clothes were starting to sweat and the heat of their bodies was making the air almost stifling to breathe. Sean thought if he had to sit here much longer he would pass out and yet he could not leave his sister here alone, so he settled himself to sit here and wait, sweating in his coat. He looked longingly at the young men lounging about on the shady grass under the awning in their thin cotton shirts with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, supping ale, and wished for a moment that he had not been born with the burdens of his class and could throw off his coat and join them. Suddenly it seemed an awful, encumbering thing to be a gentleman – if he could call himself that. 

‘Please go Sean, really I shall be fine,’ Catherine said, gesturing almost impatiently for him to leave. 

‘If you’re certain…’ Sean frowned, hesitating, despite his desire to go. Smiling thinly and nudging him gently with her parasol, Catherine urged him away. 

Promising to return shortly, Sean threaded his way through the refreshment tent and out once more into the blazing heat of the sun, slipping in amongst the crowd. He had left his hat in the refreshment tent and the sun beat down on his head uncomfortably. An pipe organ began to strike up an ear-splitting tune, a melody sung in the streets and the inns, something he remembered hearing in the carding room, passed from mouth to mouth. Sean stood and watched the little carved figures raising their arms and turning their garishly painted heads stiffly to and fro, black eyes roaming from side to side, their hands beating imaginary drums. The tune changed abruptly and Sean didn’t recognise the one that followed, although several people began to sing along, watching the figures as if entranced. 

Finding the music too loud, and beginning to feel the dull throb of a headache about his eyes, Sean moved back into the comfortable shade of the tents and noticing the brightly painted wagons and larger, painted tents at the other end of the field, Sean walked towards them, hoping for some respite from the relentless sun. There were large queues outside both attractions, and Sean would have turned back immediately, if his interest hadn’t been piqued by the paintings on the side of the wagons. Squinting in the bright light, Sean read the wording, emblazoned in bright, thickly painted letters edged with gilt. If words could shout, then these were screaming – _**Darke’s Famous Mystical Menagerie. Beasts beyond your wildest Imaginings. Be amazed! Be astounded!! Be afraid!!!**_

Surrounding the letters were lurid pictures of a jungle with slavering beasts, their mouths hanging open, sharp white fangs and red eyes glinting menace. There was a monkey hanging from a tree, with a strange face that looked pink and vulnerable, almost human and a long, dark crocodile with open jaws and all the world’s darkness within. With an awful compulsion, Sean found himself drawing near. 

This wagon had many smaller wagons attached to it, presumably where the fantastic beasts were stabled and transported and Sean wondered how they could possibly bear to be kept in such confinement. No wonder they’re slavering, Sean thought with a shudder, they are probably half-mad. 

There was a little bear on a chain close to where the crowds were queuing in a disorderly throng and a man stood beside him with a hurdy-gurdy which he turned in time to the flick of his wrist. The bear jolted with each pull of the chain, for it was attached by means of a little metal ring about a scarlet collar at his throat. The fur about his neck was thin where the collar had rubbed it bare and its eyes were blank although it was dancing a merry tune, lurching on its back legs as if someone had wound it with a key. People clapped and cheered the bear and some came close to stroke him, but were warned off, the bear’s keeper describing how he took a man’s hand clean off. 

Skirting around the amusement, Sean came up against the side of the second wagon, also brightly decorated in the manner of the first, but this time the pictures showed, not wild beasts and jungles, but people. Sean looked up in horrified fascination. Dominating all was a great black figure in a tall hat with scarves or streamers flying from it. His arms were splayed out and around him were little scenes of human oddity. Above his head were the words, as though he were calling them himself, _**V.Darkes Famous Human Curiosities. Living, breathing wonders from all four corners of the Earth. Look if you dare!**_

There were several amazing paintings; Sean thought it looked as if the painter had been given permission to astound and his imagination had turned to madness. There was a woman, sphinx-like with furred feet and claws, her head framed by a lion’s heavy golden mane and beside her a miniature man sitting in a teacup. Opposite him was a beautiful woman in Arabian dress with her legs knotted about her shoulders, smiling with long red lips as though she was unaware of the unnatural position of her legs. To her right was what could only be described as a hideous monster, half-man, half-ape, dressed in tops and tails. There were other pictures besides, but Sean was unwilling to look further, it made him feel uneasy, and his heart beat as if it were labouring in his chest. How terrible it seemed to him, that this Mr Darke should keep a menagerie of human beings in the same way he kept his beasts.

A man was standing outside the tent calling to the crowds who were pressing for admittance, their wilting tickets in their hands. He looked just like the painting on the side of the wagon in his black tailcoat and tall black hat, the dirty ribbons rippling as he moved and Sean presumed he must indeed be the famous Mr Darke himself. Sean’s eyes flew to him and hovered there, recognising from the painting the strong, hard bones of Darke’s face, dirtied a little by a sparse fair beard. His eyes were grey, the colour of winter rain and around his shoulders threaded an exquisite monkey dressed as a soldier, chattering its teeth. 

Darke’s voice was strong, but had about it a seductive softness that drew people close, as if he were not shouting but whispering in their ears. Compelled, as if by some unnatural influence, Sean went to the ticket booth and bought a ticket for a paltry sum. Standing in line, he felt awkward and ashamed, and was constantly aware of the press of people around him, laughing and leering and making dreadful claims about the monstrosities to be found within. Above all could be heard the clear, strong voice of Darke as he made his promises. 

_**Horror, amazement, bewitchment… prepare yourself…** _


	2. Chapter 2

Sean found himself growing hot and beginning to sweat in his coat. Pulling it off, he folded it over his arm and clutched it hard within his trembling palm. Looking about him from side to side at the thronging masses, he felt his heart racing. He would have to make penance tonight, he would kneel until his body ached and his head swam with tiredness. 

Darke threw open the curtain and the first of the customers passed through into the shadow beyond and almost immediately, the queue dissolved into a pressing mass of bodies, hot and clamouring, propelling Sean forwards and until he too, was passing by Mr Darke, and dipping under the lifted veil. It was much cooler in the tent, for the space seemed vast and mysterious, and draped with a dark blue fabric patterned with stars it was also gloomy as a cave. To either side of him, at regular intervals, were curtains of dark red velvet, drawn and held fast with golden rope. There was a strange sulphurous smell in the tent, issuing from the old greenish lamps that hissed on the floor, casting an eerie light. 

When all the people had entered, Darke slipped in behind and pulled down the heavy curtain, shutting out the sight of day and the weakened rays of sunlight that had stolen into the tent. Now it was almost utterly dark and a great gasp went up and whisperings filled the air. Some people coughed compulsively and others giggled like fools. Sean stood silently, dreading what was to come and yet unable to turn back. Then came the sound of an oddly-tuned fiddle, slurring out sad, painful music that set the hairs stirring on the back of Sean’s neck and Darke came out of the shadows and stood before one of the curtains, his face impassive as stone, his eyes dull and unseeing, and Sean half-wondered if perhaps he wasn’t himself at all, but one of those wax creations that he had heard tell of that would walk at will and slip dead fingers down the back of ladies necks. 

Then he spoke, and a woman yelped, for his voice seemed suddenly quite alarming in that intimate space. A lamp hissed and flickered to his left, lighting his face with a greenish hue, making him look ghostly and drear. 

“Welcome, my friends!” he cried. “Welcome curious travellers, brave wanderers, we are well met! I hope you are stout of heart and mind, for here we shall be tested, our sense of the real and the unreal, the monstrous and the beautiful shall be challenged and defied! You will see some things that will make you doubt your senses, but you must hold fast to them, my friends, for these things are only waiting in the shadows of our thought, ready to step forward and it is up to us only to draw back the veil and see…”

Darke had his hand on the golden rope and was untying it with one hand behind his back. People moved forward to see, eager for what lay within, jostling Sean forwards so brutally, his coat slipped from his arm and he had to bend down to find it in the dark. 

“Come close, friends, but not too close, for here we keep a creature strange indeed. What a creature is a woman? You might ask. She is delicate and smooth of skin, she is demure! Not so this woman. Step back! Step back! For fear she may lunge, for her teeth are sharp as knives. I warn you, this is no ordinary, civilised lady, this lady is more akin to the beasts in the menagerie yonder. As you shall see…if you dare!” and with a flourish and a cry, the curtain tore up and there was great rushing noise as everyone began to speak at once, clamouring to see. Sean looked first to Darke, who was standing, unobserved in the shadows, watchful and still, as if he had been turned once more to wax and then he looked to the booth, where the curtain had been raised and took his turn to stare. 

The booth was very large and richly decorated with the pelts of wild beasts and cushions of velvet and was brightly and gaudily lit by the light of many lamps. In the very centre of the room was a golden chaise lounge and on it reclined a woman, at least she resembled a woman at first sight, but when one looked closer, it became clear that she was not as other women. Her fair hair was very thick and long and hung loose about her shoulders in frizzy knots, and when she raised her head, slowly, as if it weighed a great deal, her face was cruelly revealed. There was a gasp from the crowd, for her cheeks and her chin were also covered in the thick, fair hair, growing wiry and plentiful as a man’s, but allowed to grow long and untamed. There was also an amount of hair on her ankles and her feet and her nails were long and twisted as talons. She stared out of the booth, propped on the velvet cushions; her green eyes very doleful and steady as a cat’s and her lips thin and long. Sean couldn’t tell if she was happy or sad, she seemed merely indifferent and a little bored. She even opened her mouth to yawn, revealing long, sharpened fangs at the sides of her mouth. 

“See that? See that mister?” cried a little boy in who stood at Sean’s elbow. “She’s got wicked long teeth!”

“Does she eat her meat raw, mister?” Someone asked Mr Darke, who suddenly moved, as if their voices had called him back to life.

“Ah yes!” he replied, with a smirk. “She rips it with her teeth!”

The men in the crowd whispered and laughed a little too loudly, and the women cried out, some wailing, “Oh! I shall faint quite dead!”

Sean watched the woman raking her nails over the soft cushions and flicking her eyes dangerously over the assembled crowd. 

“See – she seethes!” Darke cried. “We must leave her before she grows impatient.”

And with that, he let go of the rope and the curtain fell back down, covering the woman once more.

The crowd moved on, following Darke to the next set of curtains. But Sean lingered behind, still feeling the imprint of the woman in his mind and wondering how much of her was pure creation and how much was truth. He didn’t want to have to look at any more, he was sure this place was little better than a theatre, and he didn’t like the person he became when he gazed into that booth, gawping with the rest, and yet, he didn’t turn back to the entrance, but went on, following to where Darke was presenting the next exhibit - the smallest man in the world. 

Sean didn’t linger long here, having seen many such poor individuals in the cities, begging on the streets, he couldn’t stand and stare at the diminutive gentleman, standing proudly on a chair. There seemed something awful about all of these people pressing in on him, looming and gazing and making pert remarks, Sean couldn’t help but wonder what the gentleman in the booth was thinking of them. He had such clever eyes and tiny, smooth hands that tucked neatly into his waistcoat pockets as he made bow after bow and sang the national anthem.

The occupant of the third booth proved to be a woman of amazing physical flexibility. As presented on the showboard, she could weave wonders out of her own body, twining her legs about her neck and locking her ankles together. She wore voluminous Arabic trousers, which allowed her great freedom of movement and offered the watchers something exotic to excite them. The men in the crowd pushed to the front and some younger fellows shouted coarse remarks over the rope, watching how she bent and flexed, her smile unwavering. As she curled back to touch the floor behind her, making of herself an arch, her black hair hung down onto the floor in glossy waves and her feet were taut as bowstrings. Everyone waited for her to collapse, but she froze, hardly twitching, and held the position for a full minute, nothing visible of her body, besides her legs and hips. A rhythmic music played as she swayed and danced, like the exotic dancers from the East. Some mothers covered their children’s eyes. 

“She is a princess in her own land,’ Darke announced, “And she dances for our pleasure.”

When the dance was over, she flipped over onto her hands and then applauded herself with her own feet, the bells on her ankles jingling brightly.

“Now then,” Darke continued, drawing down the curtain as the music dwindled away. Turning back to the crowd, he smiled conspiratorially. “Come, let us see what other wonders we can unclothe…” He began to walk to the fourth booth and Sean followed, drawn inextricably on, as though entranced. “You have heard of The Sirens?” Darke continued, “Those witches who drew sailors to their doom on the rocks, singing so sweet a song they could tear out men’s hearts with their voices? Their faces, so pale and soft they might burn out a man’s eyes? Well now, follow me and you shall see a marvel of this kind. But I will warn you that you must not look if your heart quails at the thought of creatures such as these, for this exhibit is also perilous to the eyes of men. I have shown you many grotesque and wonderful things, but there is one here of such exquisite form you might be betrayed into believing it harmless as a flower, and yet even flowers can be dangerous, indeed the foxglove, that most beautiful of summer flowers is itself a deadly poison. I warn you – do not look into the eyes or else your heart will be ensnared and never again will you look on the light of day, but retreat into shadow. This marvel cannot bear the sun, but lives out of all touch of sunlight, shrinking from it like a phantom at the touch of dawn. Will you look, like Perseus, only through the mirror?’ And from behind his head he drew the cover from a large looking glass, angled to the side of the booth and tipped slightly away. “Look if you dare!” he smiled and tugged slowly on the rope.

There was silence and then a few soft murmurings. Sean was standing well back from the crowd and could see little but the soft blur of lamplight reflected in the glass. 

“One by one and then you may pass out of this hall of marvels and back into your world…” Darke continued, softly, as if to himself. “See? The light is soft, so soft it will not burn the whiteness of his skin?” 

Sean looked over in surprise, from the passionate introduction he had assumed the exhibit to be another female and something in his heart seemed to stutter when he heard the true sex of this perilous creature. Sean wondered, like the rest, how male beauty might grow so deep and so fierce and wanted more than anything to walk over there and see. The line was very long and each customer stood at the glass for a long time, staring strangely, mostly in silence, before passing on. 

Darke stood over the mirror protectively, as if he owned even the reflection of the soul within and the sight of his hard gaze made Sean shiver. He wished he didn’t want to look, he wished he might skirt around the booth and leave swiftly, hurrying back to his sister who would be waiting even now, wondering what had become of him, and yet something inside him craved to view. It made his knees weak, the wait and the wondering and the new and subtle shifting in his heart. 

When at last it was his turn to look, Sean hesitated before the glass and Darke, who had been looking over the customers heads, gazing blankly to the far end of the tent where they had entered, seemed suddenly horribly aware. He looked Sean directly in the face and smiled a thin smile that made Sean feel cold, although the tent was muggy with the heat and perspiration of so many bodies. Darke’s eyes flicked over Sean, noting his dress and the expensive coat folded over his arm and then gliding back up to his face, and Sean felt his gaze like a cold, white-winged moth had brushed against him in the dark. He also seemed to see another pair of eyes emerging from the shadows, two little glinting eyes, blinking above Darke’s shoulder and then dissolving away. 

“Will you look, my friend?” Darke smiled eerily, still staring Sean directly in the eye and Sean wanted to say no, he wanted to turn away, but he felt like a stringed puppet with no control over his own limbs, and instead he looked, he looked deep into the glass and saw. 

At first there seemed nothing within but a confusion of shadows. His eyes, baffled by candlelight and mirrors, could make out angles of light and shade and the contours of the booth, but little more. To see more, he had to focus hard into the glass, letting the light soften and blur. For there was more; there was something, someone, sitting in the curve of a chair, unblinking. He too seemed reflective, in both senses of the word. His clothing seemed made of some subtle stuff that glittered darkly like the polished shine on an old suit of armour, Sean wasn’t sure at first whether it was a soft suit that was cut too long, or else a shroud of material twisted, as the Romans used to wear. It covered him in soft, dark folds of light and shade and out of the midst of it, he seemed to rise, his face pale as the full moon with eyes so large and round and full that Sean found he could not look away, only lean forwards and look deeper and deeper, as though falling into black water, the world tilting under his feet. 

At the back of his mind he knew there were people waiting behind him, impatient for him to move on, and he could hear the tapping of Darke’s shoes, but could not look away. He gazed on as if entranced and people started to cough and shout. 

‘Oy! Had yer fill?’ Someone barked. 

Darke, taking full advantage of the situation, began to speak to the crowds. ‘Don’t look too closely, sir, or else you will find you will never look away again, your heart and soul shall be enslaved!’

Sean heard the words and they sent a jolt through him like a jolt of lightening. At first Sean had thought the boy was barely real, as though he was just the representation of an archaic image of a solemnly beautiful ethereal being, a thing of light and shade. He had once been invited to a display of magic pictures, which he had watched, fascinated, flickering and playing over the darkened wall. They were made from painted slides slipped over a lantern of light. The strange pictures they made had haunted him that night, dancing devils and ghosts, wild faces and witches.

The boy never blinked. Sean looked on, his eyes aching and the wide, dark blue eyes didn’t close or flutter for an instant, although their focus seemed to change, and instead of gazing absently into air, it seemed to Sean that awareness began to sharpen them.

Sean allowed his eyes to roam. The boy’s eyes were blue, so blue they shone like polished gems, and his hair was a dark russet brown and fell long over his brow in soft waves. His lips, peaked and softly parted whispered silence, and his hands were folded over the arm of the chair, the fingers woven together tightly, almost gripping. He seemed to emit a faint glow, like the spirits materialised at dark circles. 

_So beautiful, so, so beautiful…_

Sean wanted to make the boy look up, to move and react to him, become animated, as if to prove he was more than a figuration of light. He knew the seconds were ticking away now, he could hear the groan and restless shuffling of the crowd, but it seemed he had lost himself in the mirror, had become absorbed into it and its occupant, as though they were two magnetised objects drawing together – one seeing, one blind. Sean’s heart was beating so hard it pained him and he nearly stumbled when someone jostled him from behind.

‘Move aside sir,’ they jeered and Sean was shoved forwards. Finding his feet, he looked up and saw Darke staring directly into his eyes with displeasure. He didn’t speak, but showed Sean the way out with a gesture of his hand and a blade-like grin. 

When Sean lifted the heavy canvas awning and stepped out into the blinding light of day he nearly fell to his knees, his legs felt so weak. Squinting his eyes against the sun Sean walked out into the field, threading his way through the people with difficulty, knocking and jolting into them so often that some remarked rudely that he should mind his ale. His temples were throbbing now he was once more in the full heat of the afternoon and he began to feel sticky and faint. Locating the large white refreshment tents to the side of the field, he made his way there like a man in a desert seeks an oasis. 

It was busy inside the tent and Sean had to wait to let people with precariously balanced trays of food and drink pass by before he could ascertain the exact location in which he had left his sister. Inching his way to the back of the tent, Sean sought a glimpse of her black dress pricked out against the white canvas, but there seemed no sign of her, only families and young children crammed around the tables and spilling over onto the grass. They looked up at him as he stood staring and Sean felt for a moment a horrible awareness of himself as though his every thought and impulse was on view for inspection. Stammering an apology, he wove a path back out of the tent, once more greeted by a thick wave of heat as he left the shade of the tents behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

Anxious now, Sean began to search the field. The crowds had started to thin, many having sought the shade of refreshment tents. There were straggling groups of onlookers at the birds and others queuing at booths and stalls but no sight of Catherine. He wondered if he had been a long time in the menagerie, it seemed as if he had been away for hours and yet the sun was still high in the sky - surely she would not have gone home without a word to him? 

Perhaps she was waiting at the field gate? Filled with a sudden resolve, he walked past the little ticket booths and paced up the small rise back to the road. The sun was very fierce and beat relentlessly on the back of his head as he walked, and suddenly he wondered where he had left his hat and coat, for both were now missing, and he walked in his shirtsleeves like the other working men. Close to the summit of the rise a man passed by and greeted him. He was small of stature and ill shaven with fair hair and very keen grey eyes that seemed to bore into Sean as the man smiled slyly and tipped his hat. He was wearing rough clothing and had a red kerchief tied around his neck. His hands looked rough and were stained black, as if he had been hauling coal and as he spoke he rubbed them down his thighs. 

‘A good afternoon to you, sir,’ he said, pleasantly enough, with a light, lilting accent to his voice. Not pausing for an answer, he passed on his way without a second glance.

Sean felt exposed once more, as if his strange and lurid thoughts were etched upon his skin for all to see. Starting to pick up his pace, he was almost running by the time he reached the entrance to the field, where the wide gate had been flung back and tied with a rope. Great oak trees grew there against the road and beneath them was a blissful sliver of shade where the sun could not break through the thick green canopy. Gasping for breath, he leaned against a sturdy trunk and unbuttoned his shirt a little more at the neck. The air was scented with drowsy meadowsweet and there were wild roses in the hedgerow. Sinking down, Sean surveyed the field the below him, hoping to seek out that one dark spot in all the green and gaiety, but found instead, his eyes irresistibly drawn back to the large painted wagons at the far side of the field. Looking at them now from such a great distance it seemed almost impossible that they should contain such a treasure. Sean almost laughed aloud, if he didn’t know better he should say he had been tricked by the man Darke, and that his mind had indeed been enslaved! Who was he but a young boy, after all? No great treasure. He had seemed to possess a look of the otherworld about the eyes but laudanum is said to dilate the pupils, if taken in large enough doses. 

Forcing his eyes to pass on, he followed the long line of the hedge and the trees that bordered the field, rising up out of the flat basin of the meadow and inching up the rise until he found a tiny blot of darkness against the brightness of the sky. Clambering to his feet and shading his eyes from the searing sun, he strode up the hill to his right, the black blur slowing forming into something more substantial, the closer he came. Just feet away, he could see Catherine sitting in the grass, her skirts spread around her like a darkly tumbled rose, her parasol flung open at her side, half-sunk in the grass.

‘Catherine?’

Catherine looked up as he approached, and struggled to her feet. Her eyes were very bright and her hands trembled visibly as she smoothed the creases from her skirt. Tucking her hair back carefully, she walked towards him. 

‘Where are your coat and hat?’ she exclaimed, ‘Look at you!’

Sean smiled and took her arm, leading her into the shade of the trees. ‘I seem to have mislaid them somewhere.’

‘Will you go back and search?’ she said, a creeping anxiety in her voice.

Sean shot her a quick glance, but could not read her face, for her eyes were averted. ‘No,’ he murmured. ‘No, I don’t think I shall. I think I ought to take you home.’

‘I am sorry Sean - were you worried?’ 

‘You weren’t where I left you,’ he said, leading her up to the open gate, trying not to let his eyes drop back down into the field.

‘You were so long, Sean, everyone was looking…’ Lifting her parasol, she shielded her face from the glare of the sun as they emerged from the shade of the trees. ‘Where did you go?’

‘There was a display of archery,’ Sean replied, the lie spilling easily from his lips. ‘I stood and watched for some time, I am sorry I left you waiting, I found it rather absorbing.’

They left the field behind them and set out once more upon the road, pushing their backs into the hedge on two occasions to allow the hay carts to pass by, the working men and women sitting on the back, giving them long blank stares as they drew away. Sean and Catherine walked on in silence, the sun behind them now and the village resting in cool green shadow. Like the pallid green shade of the churchyard, Sean thought to himself, entering the quiet streets with Catherine’s thin, gloved hand, stained now with grass, clutched hard about his arm. As they approached the cottage with its heavy ivy fluttering darkly about the windows and its tiny porch burdened with a flourishing white rose, Catherine’s hand tightened still further, almost pinching. 

Lucy opened the door to them swiftly, averting her eyes from the unexpected sight of Mr Astin in his shirtsleeves, and Catherine passed through before him, shuttering up her parasol and handing it to the maid. When Lucy had taken her mistress’s coat and disappeared around the corner, Catherine turned back to Sean with an odd look in her eye, her cheek very pale.

‘I do not think I shall visit the fair again’, she whispered, ‘it is not as it was when we were children.’ Complaining of a headache, she mounted the stairs to bed.

~ ~ ~

Sean sat in his room, watching the shadows creep across the wall, feeling the silence of the country closing in around him as the sun finally dipped down behind the hills. He had spent the remainder of the day pacing the parlour, attempting to read but failing dismally, eating a lonely dinner attended by silent servants, listening to the late birdsong carrying through the open window. The house seemed utterly lifeless, as if it had shuttered itself off to the world and the warm, sweet evening. Pools of shadow lay where they had no right to be on a mellow night in the height of summer, and it was strangely cool, a deep chill, like lake water on the skin.

After dinner Sean saw no reason to remain in the empty rooms below, but retired early to his room. His sister had long ago fallen silent in her own adjoining room, and there was nothing to be heard now but the muffled throb of the grandfather clock in the back parlour and the subtle creaking of the boards under his feet. 

As he lay down on his bed, Sean felt the room tilt around him. In the empty spaces, thoughts began to creep. Memories of the day, heated and grown livid, the thick hot scent inside the tent, the sweat of bodies pressed close, the acrid taste of smoking paraffin, the thick, dark remembrance of his own fascination and desire. Whenever he closed his eyes he saw, through the smoky mirror, the reflection of a moon-pale face, blinking eyes as clear and bright as polished glass, something in him leaping to them, wanting to be seen. Sean shuddered in his own skin, for surely this was some kind of enchantment he was under, to think so strangely on a boy. 

It was true, he had never wed, nor kept any lasting engagement with a woman and yet he had thought that the pull of industry and the dark seduction of finance had been to blame, coupled with those memories, those splintered thoughts he had forced into a box and tied with so many ribbons they must surely have choked…Sean stopped, holding back, not wanting to let these things pass through into this space of silence. 

Clambering off the bed, Sean lit the lamp on the bedside table and slumped down to his knees to pray to the spirits for guidance. There were no words exchanged, only thoughts slipping down an invisible wire; a sound like the wailing wind and his hands clasped so tightly they seemed frozen. All the spirits remained silent, as though they didn’t want to hear, and Sean wondered if this was disapproval or if they were waiting for a confession. He didn’t know why, but as soon as he gathered his thoughts to confess, he was unable to form them into words and they crumbled like handfuls of dust; all thoughts of morality dwindling against the memory of those lucid eyes. He had come here to start anew, to cleanse himself of all that he had become and now this new temptation had arisen and stirred something in him that he had not expected, something so forbidden it made his heart quail to put a name to it. But perhaps it wasn’t his desire? Perhaps it was only the heat of the day and Darke’s curious magnetism, pulling him in? He could hear that powerful, soft voice still whispering in his ear – _eyes to enslave men’s souls_ – could it be true that the boy might possess such subtle arts? 

Sean concentrated on the channels in his mind, seeking one who would give him guidance. After hours of searching and concentrating, the lamplight flickering now as the wick trembled on a thread, Sean found the voice he sought.

‘How can I lay this ghost?’ Sean asked it quietly, his voice trembling.

The answering voice was ungentle. ‘Go back,’ it said. ‘Go back and look him in eye.’

Sean’s heart jolted hard. ‘Go back?’

‘Go back and bring him into the light.’

The voice fell still and the mist rose before Sean’s eyes, bringing him back into the world, trembling and cold, every nerve in his body vibrating with excitement.

He knew now what to do.

~ ~ ~

The fairground looked different in the dusk, the days were still long and the light wasn’t quite extinguished in the west but lingered, fading in stains of orange and crimson. It was a clear evening and the sky was a patchwork of stars with a thin sickle moon hanging over the hills. The bright glow of several fires brightened the dark field and groups of shadowy figures lingered about them, the sound of their harsh laughter carrying up to the gate where Sean stood, looking down. The air was still warm and Sean had dressed in the simplest clothes he could find so that he might walk inconspicuously; a pair of plain, slightly faded breeches he used for walking and an ivory coloured shirt which he had never worn because it fitted him poorly, being overlarge on the sleeve. He wore no jacket and had rolled his sleeves up, giving him the look of a working man. He had no soft cap to pull over his head so he didn’t wear anything at all and felt sorely underdressed and boyish, reminded with pleasure of the feel of the soft, warm wind rippling through his curling hair.

The trodden-down ground was soft underfoot as he walked down the hill, strange, drunken music rising on the wind with the thick grey smoke from the three bonfires. The largest fire had been built in the very centre of the fairground and many men stood here, drinking and talking or else languishing on the grass watching a slender, tall woman dancing in loose, flowing dress, the bells on her wrists and ankles jingling as she moved. Sean wondered if she was the woman he had seen earlier in the menagerie, the Eastern princess, and he gazed at her for a while, following the fluid motion of her body. The music she danced to flew from the hands of an elderly brown skinned woman who was moving her fingers across a long, stringed instrument that Sean had never seen before. Skirting the fire, keeping as close to the darkness as he could, Sean headed towards the far end of the field where the painted wagons stood now like great black hulks, their colours disguised. A small group of people lay in his path. They were sitting together at their cooking fire in front of the wagons. Eating together from big black pot, the smell of the food was rich and meaty and made Sean feel hungry and unsatisfied as he thought of the cold meal he had eaten alone.

Keeping close to the shadows behind the tents and the wagons, Sean managed to approach the menagerie from behind, being careful not to trip over the ropes and ties that lay in his path. He was afraid now and his heart hammered in his chest, every time he heard a voice ahead of him he would freeze, terrified of discovery, the reality of what he was doing sinking into him like knives; not least the terror of walking through the countryside at night. Walking anywhere in darkness was so unfamiliar as to be threatening. It was unheard of to walk through the city at night, he would always hail a cab, and these paths were so dark and so twisting and the folks abroad with the fair looked hard and rough, as if lying in wait to pull a knife to a man’s throat. And yet it thrilled him so he could hardly breathe, not least the thought of what lay within and the hope that he might see more clearly if he looked again, face to face.

Trying to think less, Sean willed himself to focus on one task at a time. Getting there, being close enough to put his hand upon the canvas, was enough for a start. Perhaps the menagerie would still be open for view and he might enter freely? There were still plenty of villagers about amongst the fairground folk, drinking around the fires or else playing at cards, their shouts of displeasure or roars of success sharp in the air, and there was a booth open for the telling of fortunes. Coming up against the first great wagon, Sean was stopped in his tracks by the sound of wailing. It was so awful and strange, it made the hairs rise on the back of his neck. There was a sharp bark in return followed by the sound of rattling chains, and Sean realised this must be where the animals were slept at night, Sean shivered to think of the great sad beasts tethered there, pawing and panting to break free.

As he listened to the sounds within and waited for the clamour to settle a little, Sean became aware of voices nearby and flattening his back to the side of a wagon, held his breath. 

Rounding the corner with long strides, two men approached out of the shadows. One man, dressed in dark colours, his shirt front damp as if with spilt drink, was speaking closely with the other whom Sean recognised immediately as the man who had passed him on the hill earlier that day, the man with the black hands and the rain grey eyes who had given him such a searching look. 

The grey eyed man drew something from his pocket and gave it to the other with a sly look around him, to make certain he was unobserved. ‘You see? I said I would get it for you and I did,’ he said, winking. 

The other man looked hard at what was in his hand, his fingers riffling. ‘Looks short.’

‘No!’ the fair man cried. ‘Can’t be- it’s all there I swear to you.’

‘And you reckon I should believe you, knowing what I knows…’ 

‘My reputation proceeds me,’ the other replied in a light voice, pulling out a pipe. ‘Take it or leave it, it doesn’t matter to me.’

The dark eyes of the man beside him flew up, ‘Should be, should be what keeps you lying awake in yer bed…’

The smile on the face of the fair man flickered a little before brightening his face once more, ‘Samson, my friend, you will have whatever you desire, just give me a few more weeks… you shall have it all, with interest…’ he persuaded, putting his hands to the man’s shirt front.

‘Get yer filthy hands off me!’ the dark one replied. 

Removing his hands slowly, the fair man stepped back. ‘These,’ he said in a hard voice, ‘are my trade. Now you’ve had your winnings, step back and let me pass, there’s beer to be drunk.’

‘Next week.’ The dark man shouted. ‘At the Wakes, you bring it me then.’

The fair man merely turned and smiled ‘Wakes it is,’ he shouted back, so close that Sean could almost taste the beer on his breath. As he passed, the man muttered to himself, ‘Stupid fucker’ and then passed on, sauntering across the field to the nearest fire. 

Sean let out his breath. He was relieved he had remained unseen and yet the little incident had shaken him more than he could say. Looking about for the dark clothed man, he found he had disappeared, and Sean moved off once more, looking about him yet more vigilantly, in case other such men might be lingering in the shadows.

He was right beside the menagerie, he could even make out the pictures on the side of the van and the sight of them sent his blood racing through his veins and made his head throb with exhilaration. Just mere course canvas threads separated him and the boy and Sean could swear that he could feel the tug and pull of those eyes even here, in the dark field, looking up at the queer pictures crowned with stars. 

It seemed deserted here, no people gathered on the grass and no fire blazed. The grand entrance with the ticket booth and the ropes had vanished away and all that was left was the tent and the wagon beside it. Walking closer, he saw that the white tent was throbbing with an inner light, as if lamps were still lit within. And although he thought it likely that the occupants would be warming themselves by the fire or else locked in the wagon like the beasts, something made Sean come closer just to be certain, for he could not bear to turn away and leave without looking one more time. Approaching the entrance to the tent, he stood for a moment and listened.

It seemed quiet within, and there were no shadows moving across the walls, only a stillness and a secretiveness that made Sean want to steal inside, just him alone and walk where he had walked before and imagine, just for a moment that he had looked and seen, really _seen_. 

Sean tested the flap of cloth at the entrance and found it tied in a rough knot on one side, looped around a cruel metal hook that was jammed into the ground. Bending on one knee, Sean worked his fingers around the knot and, praising himself for his practical sense, imbedded into him after long years working in the industry of thread and cloth, Sean tugged it and twisted it until it loosened and he could slide his body beneath without raising it all the way, so that his intrusion might remain unseen.

The smell of paraffin and strange spices filled his nostrils as he stood in the dimly lit space, aware of the thin passage before him, dark now as pitch, and the booths to either side. Most were dark within but one, which was still illuminated, the thin light penetrating the tattered velvet curtains that hung at its mouth, spilling out onto the passage and flooding the far walls white as sail cloths. 

Sean passed the empty booths and crept on, his legs weak with anticipation, his head ringing, listening to the close sounds of chains and roars, bellows and creakings, and the occasional shout or whistle, through the wall. But the tent itself was quiet. So quiet, Sean could hear his own breaths coming rough and harsh. Finding himself mere footsteps away from the last booth and wavering light, Sean hesitated, suddenly horribly aware of what he was attempting to do and unable to proceed for fear of it. 

He could see the tilted mirror was hidden now behind a great black cloth and the red curtain was only half drawn across, so most of the room beyond and its occupant would be on full view, if you were to look. All he had to do was step forwards and turn his head, glance in, draw his eyes over the scene and move on, hopefully unobserved. He would see the truth, and the boy would become a plain boy once more and not a treasure, faded and dull as the dust that caked the boards under his feet. This is what he told himself, but his heart twisted strangely and something within softened and uncoiled, stretching and reaching, like a caress, leaving him so aroused his head swam. Just a footstep more, he told himself, just one step…

But before he could take it, he heard movement at the entrance to the tent and loud, drunken shouts drawing close. For a horrible moment, Sean was certain they would enter the tent and come thundering down, despoiling it, and ripping back the curtains and suddenly panicking, he backed into the booth opposite and crouched down on the floor. The drunken shouts continued for a time and someone must have attempted to enter, even burst inside for an instant and shouted into the thick, perfumed darkness something cruel and idiotic, that Sean only caught half of. They were making jokes and shouting, most of it indecipherable, until Sean caught the tail end of a threat. 

‘Don’t matter to me freak, I like pretty girls…’

The laughter grew menacing and then, as abruptly as it started, it ceased and just as Sean was wondering whether he should move quickly whilst the men had gone, he heard quick footsteps approaching down the passage and his heart leapt with fear. He wondered if the men had entered unseen and were even now on their way to the last booth, to destroy what lay within. They can’t…Sean thought desperately… they shall not do it… Rising unsteadily to his feet, he pushed through the curtain of the booth and, barely knowing what he was doing, walked up to the last booth and sank into the shadows behind the half-drawn curtain.

There were voices, although not the voices Sean expected to hear. This voice was strong, but reigned in, talking slowly and carefully. 

‘They untied the rope,’ it said, almost a reprimand, but not quite. ‘Three men, and all of them half-cut.’ 

There was a mumbled response that Sean could not gather. 

‘Can you imagine what they might have done to you? Can you think how their rough hands would have held you down, and with no one here to hear your screams?’

Sean heard something like a murmur and a rustle of cloth. 

‘Do you see? That is why I must always watch you,’ the voice went on, growing louder and sterner, as if through clenched teeth. ‘You’re not safe to be alone, I think I should tie you up and put chains about you….I think I’d like that…would you?’

There was no response, only a weighted silence followed by a rippling laugh. ‘Don’t you look at me like that, little Gorgon!’ The laughter rumbled on and then failed. ‘There are men all around us clamouring to get in and here you are, unprotected. I worry about you…I don’t think you are safe on your own, you should be locked in a safe place at night, away from the world … away from course things, hard things, brutal men…’ The voice was softer now, cajoling. ‘We might take a wagon of our own, kick Brutus out, he won’t mind, he likes sleeping under the stars…what do you think? Elijah! Look at me, little one, what would please you?’ 

Sean heard the response this time. ‘I want to go to sleep.’

The man’s voice barked a laugh, and there was the sound of movement as if he had risen to his feet and was pacing about. ‘Does it tire you, all those eyes staring at your reflection? Etching it away? Do you feel as if you’ll be erased altogether by the rubbing of their hands, their eyes? Their pricks?’

Sean swallowed, his face flushing, the words sinking deep, shaming him. He knew it would be a good idea to leave now before the man came out, and yet he found himself quite unable to move.

‘Please…’ the soft voice murmured.

‘I care for you, I don’t want you harmed,’ the man said firmly, brooking no argument. ‘That is all. You should thank me for it.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ For a fleeting moment Sean thought he detected a hint of mockery in his voice. 

‘Good boy,’ the man replied, in a gentler tone. ‘You are my treasure…I shall protect you with my life.’

‘I know…’

‘Come then, kiss me – What? You shake your head! Come now, take my hand at least and bid me goodnight and I shall put Brutus on the door so you shall not fear rough hands bruising your perfect skin…good boy…that’s it…a little thing indeed…there…come now, lie down and sleep, so you may enchant the crowds tomorrow…’

Sean knew time was getting short and, hardly pausing for breath, leaped to his feet and hurried back into the opposite booth, praying that he had not made a sound. 

‘Goodnight, little Gorgon, sweet dreams.’ The man’s voice was so close, so close it seemed to flutter across his skin like feathers. 

Heavy footsteps lingered for a moment outside the booth and then, mercifully continued on, passing down the tent back to the entrance, sharp heels snapping on the blackened boards. Unable to resist, Sean crept out of his hiding place a little way, still half-concealed by the curtain and, drawing back the musty velvet, saw the tall, lean figure of Darke himself framed black against the moonlight, something small with brightly shining eyes looped around his neck. Taking one look back down the tent, Darke threw back the heavy canvas and fixing it securely with the click of a key, sealed the occupants within.


	4. Chapter 4

Elijah lay back on the makeshift bed, listening to the sound of Darke’s retreating footsteps. He was weary, more tired today than was usual after a day of exhibiting. Yawning widely, he stretched out first one leg and then the other, unlacing and kicking off the soft black leather boots and twisting his ankles, loosening the tight muscles in his legs which pained him after a long day of sitting perfectly still. He, of all the performers had it the worst. Darke wanted him as lifeless as a waxwork, more a picture than a flesh and blood man, and one little flinch, one minute spasm, would not be tolerated. Darke had been particularly firm on this matter during Elijah’s gruelling apprenticeship, training him to bear first the aches and then the agony of standing perfectly still. Whenever he would falter, Darke would snap the whip on the floor and the crack of it and the menace, brought him instantly to himself and he would draw his muscles in tight and bear it and bear it until he was satisfied. Hours they would work, Darke circling him like a lion tamer, whip in hand, watching for the slightest quiver, the smallest tremor, the longer than necessary blink. Elijah’s body grew strong with the training and the pains - although they still returned to torment him at night - would grow less until eventually he was able to maintain a stillness and a poise that pleased the master. When Darke was satisfied, he would circle him, moving so intimately close Elijah could feel the burn of his breath on the back of his neck and brush his hair lightly with the whip to see if he would flinch. He never did, he was stronger than that, he could bear any such provocation and not bat an eye, he was just grateful Darke never used the whip on his body; for he treated that as fine porcelain and would not mark it. 

Darke was pleased with Elijah’s eyes, how swiftly he had mastered the technique of holding them open, without blinking. Before he commenced his work, Darke would drop some liquid into them. Promising it would make them yet more lustrous, he cupped his hand under Elijah’s chin, gripping firmly to tip back his head, ordering him to look up. The liquid felt cold and stung as it went in, dilating his pupils and making them look very black and wide against the thin band of bright blue. The drops made it easier for Elijah to keep them open, the liquid swimming in them preventing them from drying. When Elijah managed to hold still for two minutes without a single gasp of pain, Darke was very pleased with him and sat down at his feet, taking his hands and kissing them softly all over – turning the palms uppermost and kissing there, where the skin is most sensitive. 

‘Little Gorgon,’ he murmured, using that pet name that Elijah hated, ‘My jewel.’ Elijah sat very still, as though he had not been released from command and bore it, feeling his skin slowly creeping to wax. 

The costume he wore was very light and chill and in the evenings he would throw on a long coat and wrap it about him. It was a rough thing, left behind by one of the punters, but it was warm enough. So long as Darke never saw him in it, it would do no harm. Leaning over, Elijah located the loose floorboard and tugged it up, pulling out the old, patched green coat and shouldering it on, shivering with cold. There was no heating in the tent, only the flare of the lamp and the sparse warmth contained in the glass, which was not much. Drawing the light closer, Elijah curled in on himself and drew up his legs, wincing at the twist of protest in his sinews. He pulled up the collar and tried to bury his face into the coat, breathing in the scent of must and dirt. 

Damn Darke! This was his fault, all of it. He purposefully kept it cold so that Elijah wouldn’t want to stay here at nights but would be forced out to seek the comforts of his wagon, where there was always a good fire going in the little black pot-bellied stove and the bed was heaped with pillows and quilts. But Elijah turned his mind from that, despite the temptation on such a night when his body thrummed like an over-plucked string and the horsehair sofa dug into his ribs, and thought instead of subtle acts of defiance.

Closing his eyes to the blissful release of sleep and subterfuge, Elijah was just drifting off when he heard a rustle under the canvas, followed by the soft tinkling of bells. 

Elijah’s eyes were closed, but he recognised the step, ‘Ruby?’ 

‘Lijah, are you asleep?’

Elijah opened one eye a crack, ‘Yes,’ he murmured, watching the slender brown girl sliding under the curtain and into the room, dragging something behind her.

‘Has he been?’ She whispered, looking about her as if someone might have secreted themselves in the curtain or under the sofa. 

‘Been and gone,’ Elijah replied.

‘Good,’ Ruby said, her London twang betraying her roots, despite her exotic looks. ‘You alright?’

‘My legs are hurting,’ Elijah winced, drawing them closer to his chest.

‘I’ll get you some of that lotion, I’ll ask Leone, she’ll have some, she uses it on her feet. Are you hungry?’ 

‘I don’t know…just want to go to sleep…’ Elijah tried closing his eyes once more. 

‘What did he want anyway?’ Ruby said, brusquely shoving a bowl of food under Elijah’s nose. ‘There was bread but I couldn’t get my hands on any, greedy beggers…’

Elijah groaned and sat up, pulling the plate onto his lap obediently. ‘Oh you know, same as usual,’ he said, dipping his spoon into the mixture in the bowl and stirring slowly.

‘Wants to get you in there?’ she said, gesturing to where the wagons were lined up, outside the tent. ‘Beside those bellowing beasts?’ she shuddered. ‘Couldn’t rest beside them, not for the softest pillow in the kingdom.’

Elijah nodded, frowning at the food. ‘It’s not those beasts that bother me. What is this anyway?’

‘Mutton stew – ungrateful brat!’ she scolded, cuffing him around the ear. 

Elijah tried a spoonful and winced.

‘Come on now, you eat that, you get some colour back in those cheeks, that’ll vex him!’ Ruby grinned, pulling her hair free of its ties and letting it free to spill about her shoulders like black ribbons. 

There was the sound of raised voices from outside and the silhouettes of two men could be seen lurching beside the tent. They listened, perfectly tense and still, until the men staggered away, still hurling gobs of abuse. 

Ruby let out her breath in a long sigh. ‘You want me to sleep in with you tonight, Lijah?’

Elijah tried some more of the food and then laid down his spoon, his nose wrinkling in distate. ‘If you like.’

‘Of course,’ Ruby continued, looking down at Elijah’s discarded plate. ‘If you went in with him you’d get lamb chops and gravy.’

Elijah rolled his eyes and collapsed onto his back. ‘And afters to follow…’

‘You look cold,’ Ruby frowned. ‘I’ll bring you one of my blankets.’

Sliding back under the tethered curtain, Ruby padded down the tent and, hurrying into her own booth opposite, gathered up the blankets that lay hidden in a heap behind the chests in which her costumes were stored. It was dark in there, so dark she could barely see her hand in front of her face, but she managed to locate the blankets and find her way back out without difficulty. Hurrying back, she found her foot caught up with something fallen in the passage. Bending down, she held tight to her blankets as she picked the object up. It was an article of clothing, made of the softest, palest linen, so fine it seemed to shine in the dark. She could feel it was quality merely by stroking her fingers across the weave and she took it with her, back to Elijah who was resting with his eyes closed, the lamplight bathing his face in a warm radiance. 

Ruby liked to watch him when he was sleeping, although she was very much aware that Elijah wouldn’t want this, being fond of his own company in the evenings and wearied already by people’s stares. But he looked so lovely in moments like this, the hardness erased and all the soft beauty beneath revealed so gently, she couldn’t help herself a small indulgence. 

‘Ruby, you’re looking,’ Elijah muttered.

‘Bugger! How do you know? Your eyes are shut!’ 

‘Oh I know,’ Elijah replied. ‘I know when someone’s looking, even when I can’t see them.’

‘Really?’ Ruby exclaimed.

‘Oh yes.’

‘I think you’re ragging me,’ Ruby replied. ‘Your damned lashes are so long your eyes are prob’ly peeking through them like a pair of net curtains!’

Elijah laughed and accepted the blanket that Ruby tossed his way, throwing it over the sofa and bundling himself up.

‘I have a present for you,’ Ruby sang, coming closer, with a sly smile about her painted lips. 

‘Oh God no, not another of those horrible comfits.’

‘No. No! Better than that, much better, here look…’ Ruby shook out the fabric in her arms and showed Elijah the well-made cream linen jacket. ‘Like it?’

Elijah’s brow furrowed thoughtfully. ‘Who did you rob that from, some poor unsuspecting admirer, a rich one, with eyes that look where they shouldn’t?’

‘You know him?’ Ruby laughed.

‘I think I might,’ Elijah replied. ‘Let me see.’

Throwing the jacket to him, Elijah looked at it and felt the fine quality of the linen. ‘This is better than the old one, anyway…’

‘Have it – it’s yours.’

‘This is a gentleman’s coat…’

‘And you’re as gentle a man as any, have it, Lijah, you would look so dandy!’

Elijah sat up and held it against himself, pinning it down with his chin and splaying out his arms. ‘Looks a bit too big.’

Ruby looked outraged. 

‘Alright, alright, I’ll try it, I promise, just not now, not tonight, I’m tired…’

More noise from outside made them startle once more and still, Ruby turning her voice to a whisper. ‘It’s a bad lot out there, not a gentleman amongst them.’

‘He said they were trying to get in, someone had untied the ropes.’

Ruby shivered, rubbing her bare arms and reaching for the other blanket. ‘I’ll stay by you, Lijah, don’t you worry my sweet.’

Elijah burrowed further into the covers, muffling his ears to the sounds outside. ‘Thanks,’ he murmured into the gathering dark.

‘That’s alright, my dove, the lamp’s spluttering, shall I kill it?’ 

‘May as well,’ Elijah mumbled sleepily.

‘Sweet dreams,’ Ruby whispered. ‘Don’t mind if I say a quick prayer?’ 

Not waiting for a response, Ruby knelt down on the worn boards, clasped her hands together and murmured a well-learned verse. Once finished she sat up, extinguished the lamp with a quick puff, folded herself into a perfect comma and settled down to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

When Elijah woke, the first thin, weak daylight was seeping through the canvas sides of the tent. Hissing through his teeth, Elijah turned over, so that his face was now pressed up against the back of the moth eaten chaise longue. Feeling stifled, and finding his right ribs ached even more than his left, he threw himself onto his back and flung off his blanket, hot now and restless. Knowing that the morning was still an hour away, he closed his eyes once more, trying to pick up the thread of the dream that had snapped upon waking, but found all dreams had now dissolved and all he see was the shifting dark behind his own eyes. 

Sighing, he rose to his feet and paced a few turns about the little white room, looking down at Ruby still sleeping on the floor, her long brown feet tucked in beneath her chest like a Roe Deer. He was hungry now and thirsty for cool water, but there was no one to run and fetch it for him and it would be an hour at least until Brutus came with his breakfast and water jug. Looking down, he saw the remnants of yesterday’s mutton stew, grey now with a film of yellow fat congealed over the surface, and found his appetite instantly assuaged. 

Gathering the blanket from the floor, he noticed beneath it, the crumpled pale linen of last night’s find. Shaking out the creases, Elijah laid it carefully down on the chaise longue, unbuttoning the green wool coat he was wearing over his costume with stiff fingers. Darke wouldn’t be pleased, there were creases in the tunic and the trousers. He wasn’t supposed to sleep in it. Elijah smiled a small smile of triumph and, admiring the lovely new jacket, tugged the silvery tunic off over his head and slipped the jacket on, feeling the whisper of good cotton and silk against his naked skin. Although much too wide and long on the arms, it felt light and the cut was very clever and very fine. It was made for a broader frame. Elijah fingered it and thought hard, drawing on his addled memories of yesterday. It was difficult, one day was so like the next, they bled one into another. So many eyes, so many muttering voices, all alike. Come on! He urged himself. Who? Something vague began to reveal itself to him, a feeling that had caught him unexpectedly. Someone looking and the skin on the back of his neck prickling, the gaze hanging so long and so deep it seemed he was drawing him out of himself, as the honey is sucked from the comb.

He wanted to see himself in the jacket, wondering if the sight of himself in another man’s skin might jolt the memory to life, and he thought at once of the mirror hanging just outside the curtain. There should be enough light now for him to see a dim reflection and get a measure of the effect. Running his hands down over his chest, he smiled and, stepping over the softly snoring Ruby, emerged into the shadowy passage. 

There was a black curtain covering the mirror and Elijah had to reach up on his tiptoes to pull it down. As the curtain slithered to the ground it revealed the enormous warped mirror beneath, distorted to give the onlooker an intimate view of the room beyond. The surface was slightly blurred and speckled here and there with silver scratches, which revealed themselves when the lamps were not lit. 

Taking hold of the mirror, Elijah attempted to twist it away from the room so that it might show instead the passage and the curtained booths. It was very weighty and groaned a little on its wires, but Elijah managed to angle it so that he had a fair enough view of himself, as least as far as the knees. The silver grey breeches looked oddly with the cream jacket, so he was rather pleased the mirror reflected only the fair half. Still caressing the silken weave, Elijah posed in front of the glass, looking at himself curiously and a little harshly – thinking how the cream linen accentuated the paleness of his skin. Turning his head this way and that, watching how the shadows sculpted his face, it seemed to him the darkness cradled him, falling as it did into all the soft curves and hollows, transforming his dark chestnut hair to black and pricking out the dark shine in his eyes.

_It’s almost as if it knows the darkness is my element and the light shies away._

He had grown so used to regarding himself as a spectacle; Elijah thought nothing of staring at his own reflection for hours, if others could do it, why not he? He belonged to himself after all, not matter how others might wish it otherwise. This body was all he had and he would keep it close.

As he gazed on, looking deep into the glass, Elijah gradually became aware of something moving behind him, to his right. It was a subtle movement, a whisper of cloth or the trickle of a draught, but instantly he froze. 

‘Who’s there?’ he said, his voice brittle in the quiet.

Hearing no reply, and somehow unwilling to turn around, instead he reached out and tilted the mirror slightly, exposing that patch of deep shadow where the booths on the opposite side of the passage were curtained and dark, rippling slightly as if agitated by a subtle dark breeze. At the mouth of the nearest booth, Elijah saw the curtain ripple as if an invisible hand had just drawn back the folds. 

‘Brutus?’ Elijah spoke the dwarf’s name aloud, ‘Leonie?’ No one replied. ‘Who’s there?’

The curtain moved just an inch, just enough for an eye to peek through the gap. 

Elijah waited, feeling his heart begin to lurch painfully with every beat, remembering Darke’s warnings of the previous night and the brutal men who had been trying to break in. Perhaps he should go back to his room - wake Ruby? But something hushed him and told him to wait. Wait and see.

The curtain began to move, drawing back into itself inch by inch, like a silent, broken concertina, revealing little by little, a shadow emerging from Ruby’s room, gradually materialising into the broad and menacing figure of a man. Elijah’s eyes widened and all of his blood turned instantly to ice.

~ ~ ~

Sean had been sitting so long, so long in the dark his ears thrummed with it and his body felt weightless as if the darkness had consumed his material self and he had become little more than ashes and dreams. All evening he had listened, his ear pressed against the whispering velvet, hearing more than was needful, learning more than he wanted to know, wishing he might stop up his ears and yet unable to draw away and the worst of it was hearing Elijah talk of eyes burning his skin and feeling his own guilt pricking at his skin like needles, for he had looked and worse, had wanted more, wanted to see deeper, right under the pale skin to where the blue veins ran, right down to the heart.

Elijah was no enchanter, no pale, fragile soul summoned up from the underworld – he was a flesh and blood boy – a prisoner of a villainous man. Sean sat with his knees drawn up to his chin and tried to make himself invisible, wishing he might dissolve into the dark rather than be found here and his intentions made known. He was not much better than those rough men, the men who would force their way in and take what they had no claim to; and worse, he was a coward. He could go to Elijah now, under cover of darkness, set him free, take him back to Kate, back to the village. He could give him a new life, but still Sean sat in the dark, trembling, longing for another secret look. As heavy as the knowledge made him in his heart, he still desired that more than anything. Once, late in the evening, the girl, Ruby, crept into the booth where he was hiding and it took all his strength to stay silent. She didn’t see him; why should she? She had no reason to look, only drew out the blankets from the chest and passed by, back to where Elijah was waiting, trailing the heady scent of spicy, acrid smoke. 

And as he sat there alone in the darkness, Sean was struck by the paralysing fear that this might be all there was – this human circus. He started to question the spirits, even the knowledge of their very existence. What if there were no layers of meaning? No veils of light or wires of communication? Only this. 

He must have slept, for suddenly he grew aware that it was starting to get light, a cold, pale light seeping through the rough sides of the tent, revealing the lush fabrics of the booth, the ropes dangling from the ceiling and the filmy curtains from the East. Disorientated, he rose to his feet, trying to gather his thoughts, finding the tent all at once stifling. He thought of the rope at the entrance and wondered if the knot was still fast. With his head spinning and his legs as weak as water, he put his hand to the curtain and drew it back a little so that he might look out into passage and be certain that it was quite deserted. 

What he saw made his heart stop. 

Standing in front of the tilted mirror, his back towards Sean and his body perfectly still, poised once more as if made of marble or wax, Elijah stood, staring at himself as yesterday Sean had stood and stared at him and it was such a fractured, strange reflection he threw, that Sean almost disbelieved the evidence of his own eyes. It was seemed as impossible as the movement of a marble statue rising from its plinth to reappear in a new position. 

The boy was wearing the lost jacket and pressing it with his hands as though it was the treasure and not the body it concealed. 

Despite his vows in the darkness, Sean’s eyes hung upon the back of the slender frame before him, willing him to turn so that he might look fully into the face that had haunted him. But even as his heart desired it, his mind recoiled, afraid of falling deeper under its spell, knowing the sin of looking and yet wanting it all the more, wanting it so he would never be happy again without sight of it. And he must have made a sound; or else his will made ripples in the air, for all of a sudden Elijah sensed him, or else felt the burning of his eyes. 

When the boy spoke, his voice was hard, with a flicker of fear beneath. Sean could not respond; his fear was too great and his throat felt as if someone had choked him with cloth. 

Elijah spoke some strange names into the air, testing for the presence of a friend and knowing himself the intruder, Sean could hardly bear to hear it and knew he must go out, if only to allay Elijah’s fears. With a racing heart, Sean drew a steadying breath and stepped quietly into the passage.

Elijah turned and stared. He looked at Sean boldly, with hauteur in his bright eyes. He didn’t speak, but as he stared, his lips parted softly and a shadow passed over his face as if he were thinking and wondering and calculating in his mind.

‘I know you,’ he said, at last, his voice low and measured. ‘You came yesterday for the show.’ He nodded, his eyes sparking against Sean’s like tinder. ‘You looked for ages, long and hard.’ He smiled queerly, and then his smile faded as quickly as it came. ‘You wouldn’t move along…’ Tilting his head like a thoughtful bird, his eyes never flinching from their hold, Elijah took a step forwards. ‘You dropped your coat on the ground when you were looking.’ Sean took one step back, watching Elijah’s fingers moving on the buttons, starting to work them free. ‘You have it… you have it back, I don’t need it, I have a coat already…’ The buttons were now open, revealing the iridescent skin beneath, pale pink nipples exposed, like the shining interior of a white shell. Sean was certain he could see the fluttering of Elijah’s heart, belying the even tone of his voice. It looked as if a butterfly were trapped within, beating and beating to be free, and Sean felt his own heart rising also, stuttering against the hard cage of his ribs. 

Allowing the jacket to fall from his smooth, round shoulders, Elijah held it out in front of him. ‘Take it,’ he said, his wide eyes unblinking. ‘Take it and go.’

Sean stared back, entranced, and as fierce cats when cornered, their eyes hung together as if by an invisible thread and neither moved an inch.

‘No,’ Sean said at last, his voice unsteady. ‘I want you to keep it.’

Elijah began to shake his head slowly. ‘Take it and go,’ he said once again, although his voice sounded a little unsteady.

‘It looks well on you,’ Sean replied, heat rising to his face.

‘You shouldn’t be here,’ Elijah said, shaking his head. ‘If Darke catches you he will whip you.’

Sean felt suddenly a desperate fear, but not for himself. ‘Come with me.’ Sean spoke hurriedly, decisively moving towards Elijah, as if to take him by the hand. 

Elijah walked backwards, a startled look on his face. ‘What do you want?’ he whispered, nodding towards a nearby booth. ‘Darke’s in there - if I shout, he’ll hear me and he’ll come.’ 

The lie didn’t shock Sean, but the fear in Elijah’s eyes did. ‘I want to get you out,’ he said. ‘I can’t leave you here…’

Elijah was pressed now against the far side of the tent, the light spilling around his half-naked body, his breaths coming light and quick, drawing attention to the fragility of his thin frame. 

‘I will look after you, I promise, you shall have a room of your own, I will not expect anything of you, just that you come away from this wicked place.’

Elijah looked as if he was about to laugh, and then he covered his mouth with his hand and simply stood, looking down at his feet as if baffled. 

‘Come now,’ Sean begged. ‘Please…’

Elijah drew his hand across his mouth, laughter shivering in the soft cave of his belly, ‘I’m not what you think I am – I’m not _that!_ ’ he exclaimed, gesturing towards the mirror. ‘It’s all an act, see? An act.’ 

‘Elijah…’ Sean began, stepping forwards.

‘I come from the gutter, my mother sold me in the Workhouse, I don’t know my own birthday, I know more curse words than poetry and the tricks I’ve learned I’ve learned from whores and thieves! Did you think I was some tender flower Darke plucked from a fairy glen?’ Elijah began to splutter with laughter, and then stopped himself once more with the flat of his own hand. ‘You’re a gentleman – go home.’

‘I know who you are,’ Sean continued, calmly. ‘Come with me.’

‘Don’t give up easy, do you?’ Elijah mumbled, looking up once more and meeting Sean’s soft, needful stare. Then he smiled, slowly and a little nervously. ‘I’ve had punters smitten before, some that come time after time to look, passing notes through the curtain, wanting me to meet them after, always trying, pushing their hands into the booth, grabbing and grabbing…’ Elijah laughed shakily. ‘Never had one hide out in the tent, though, never had a gent want me to run away, never had one speak so fine and so gentle.’

‘Elijah,’ Sean said once more, the word no more than a sigh.

‘I’m sorry I’ve caught you, sorry for it, you seem a good man…’ Elijah faltered. ‘But I couldn’t come with you, not even if I wanted it.’

Sean stood stock still, his heart lurching painfully, as he saw the bleakness pass over Elijah’s face. 

‘I’m bound to him, you see,’ Elijah went on. ‘I signed the papers, I made my mark and I could no more come with you than fly to the moon.’

‘He need never find us, I have money, we might go anywhere we like, perhaps overseas?’

Elijah shook his head. ‘I can’t…the light would finish me if he didn’t…and I don’t know you, you could be worse than him!’

‘Do you really believe that?’ Sean pressed. ‘How might I prove the honesty of my intentions towards you? What if I promised to give you time, to court you properly, to visit you in the night when the darkness cannot touch you? I would wait, give you time to consider….to show that I am genuine in my feelings…’

‘Your feelings?’ Elijah cried. ‘Your intentions? Sounds like a proposal!’

‘Why are you laughing?’ Sean frowned.

‘You don’t know me from Adam. If you knew me you wouldn’t ask…’

‘Then let me decide.’

A spark of interest lit up Elijah’s face as he turned his face away to consider. ‘I like a challenge,’ Elijah said. ‘Life’s so bloody dull.’

‘Will you meet with me?’

‘I never leave the tent!’ Elijah laughed, the laughter dying as soon as it had burst from his lips. ‘And he has his eyes on me even when he’s not here, he’d never allow it…’ Falling silent, Elijah seemed to be rifling through the thoughts in his head, as if working through a pack of cards. When he looked up, there was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. ‘Come after dark,’ he said at last. ‘Close to midnight, when the camp has gone to bed. Come by the tent and someone’ll let you in.’

‘Will they agree?’ Sean asked, suddenly wildly elated, wanting to run up to the boy and kiss him breathless.

‘They’d do anything for me,’ Elijah smiled confidently. ‘I want to see you again.’

Something flared in Sean’s heart that flooded his body with warm delight. ‘I am so glad, Elijah,’ Sean breathed. ‘May I call you that?’ he added.

‘Most call me Lijah, but you can call me by my proper name if you want,’ he said, biting his lip.

‘When shall I come?’ Sean urged.

‘Tomorrow night, that gives me time to work something out.’ Elijah replied. ‘As long as you’re sure?’

‘Quite,’ Sean affirmed. ‘Thank you.’

Elijah shook his head once more, his arms folded around his own chest. ‘You’re an odd one,’ he smiled. 

Sean dared to move one step closer, mere inches away now from the lovely, imperfect creature before him. Elijah must have noticed the warmth in Sean’s hazel eyes and something of the fire that flickered within, for he seemed all at once to freeze and shiver. ‘You should go now,’ he whispered. ‘And quick.’

Sean almost flinched as suddenly he heard voices outside the tent and shadows moving across.

‘I’m always the first,’ Elijah said, alarmed. ‘He’ll be here, go, please and don’t argue. I’ll ask Ruby to let you out.’ And with those words he vanished into his booth and returned a few moments later with a heavy-eyed Ruby. She threw Sean a hard, appraising look out of her sharp, dark eyes as she passed, walking to the far end of the tent and squeezing herself through a narrow gap in the canvas. Elijah turned back to Sean, looking up with beseeching eyes. ‘Go now, Ruby’ll untie the rope. If you’re fast, no one’ll see…’

Sean looked one more time into the lovely, open eyes and his heart ached as if with a terrible burden. ‘I will see you again?’ 

‘Yes, if you go now, or else you’ll be lucky if you see anything again.’ 

Elijah pushed him firmly towards the entrance, walking behind him until he reached the tied piece of canvas, Ruby’s tall, slim shape darkly visible from the other side. 

‘Be wary, Elijah,’ Sean said. ‘Until I come.’

Elijah smiled and nodded. ‘Always am,’ he said. ‘Bye then, mister…?’

‘Sean,’ he replied. ‘My name is Sean.’

Elijah dismissed him with a brief wave and began to walk back into the darkness of the tent. ‘Sean?’ he called, turning back, his eyes shining and his cheeks flushed. ‘Can I keep the coat?’

‘Of course,’ Sean grinned. ‘With pleasure.’ 

‘Thanks,’ Elijah smiled, slipping it back on and turning to walk away.

‘Goodbye,’ Sean called.

‘Go away!’ Elijah shouted back, his voice muffled now by canvas and shadow.

Feeling as if a thousand candles had been ignited in his soul, Sean tested the entrance curtain and finding it free, slipped through. Instantly, his hand was grasped firmly and he was tugged down into the grass, crawling on his hands and knees around the side of the tents, away from sight of the camp. 

Ruby knelt beside him, her eyes darting from side to side as she scanned the field. 

‘Leave him alone,’ she hissed. ‘If you feel anything for him – leave him alone.’

Sean opened his mouth to respond, but found her already gone, inching through the long grass on her belly like a wriggling, sinuous snake.


	6. Chapter 6

Walking back through the village in the weak morning light, Sean met no one besides the milkman’s pony and trap clattering by on its way to town, far away beyond the distant hills, invisible but for the stain of black in the western sky. The cottages were all shuttered and quiet and a deep silence hung thickly above the streets, sweetened only by the scent of roses blooming in the tiny square front gardens and the desperate singing of the birds. Now and then, out of the corner of his eye, Sean saw movement at dark windows, like the blinking of a heavy-lidded eye, but he didn’t linger, only walked yet more briskly, until he reached the gate of his sister’s long, white cottage and lifted the latch. He rapped on the door twice with the lion-headed knocker, but finding his summons unanswered, slid his small key into the lock and let himself in.

In the hall, where the coats still hung in an orderly line like drooping flowers, his footsteps echoed strangely. He called out first for Alice and then for his sister, but received no reply. Walking into the parlour, he picked up some letters from a side table and leafed through them absently, as he walked over to the window and peered out of the ivy-covered panes, onto the empty street. Glancing down, he noticed, with a start of alarm, that one of the letters was addressed to him and bore a London postmark. His legs trembling, he sank down into a chair and broke the seal, his mind so abstracted he barely understood the words on the page, marking only fragments of sense. 

_Dear Friend… recuperation… respite…sincerely hope…your own particular expertise…documents to sign…a good deal more than we had hoped…I shall be passing through on my way…to London…return to town..._

The black marks blurred in front of Sean’s eyes, contorting themselves into impossible shapes as his heart beat erratically, causing him to drop the letter onto the floor. Shaken and impossibly weary, Sean rubbed his hands over his face and tried to calm his breathing. First things first, a practical voice whispered in his mind, go and wash and change your clothes and then you can think of a way to go on. 

His room was cool and shadowed still with the greenish, underwater light that filtered through the clinging ivy. There was no water for him to wash in, so instead, Sean stripped off his grass stained shirt and lay down on the mattress with a groan. His body was aching from sitting cramped for so many hours and his head and neck were stiff with the tension of watching and listening. Waves of fear and excitement swept over him as he wondered how he had borne to live before this in a state of such dull monotony. He wondered how he had lain so many nights alone thinking of nothing but the calculation of numbers and the measuring of his own righteousness. He remembered all the dull evenings he had spent in cold halls listening to lectures, followed by the cold ride home through thick, smoky air, rank with the scent of the creeping Thames, and the sound of the keys falling from his hand into the china dish with an empty chime. His bed was never a place for pleasure, but a space to reflect and to consider until his mind wound down like an over worked clock and finally, he fell asleep. He never listened to the demands of his body, or if he did, he dealt with it swiftly and then settled back to more pressing concerns. The thoughts that entered his head at such times sometimes unsettled him, but he did not dwell on them long and they were soon extinguished, like snuffing a candle.

When he visited his first dark circle, as part of a sceptical party, he was afraid. Afraid that the spirit might see right through him as though he was a vessel of glass and as he sat, holding hands with the other listeners he prayed that the spirit would not look to him and see displayed, all the secrets of his heart. But instead the spirits were good, they did not speak of what they saw, but spoke instead of his mother and he was comforted. Once, but only once, a spirit had touched his hair, and the shiver he felt was just as though someone had slipped an icicle down his neck. He visited the circles often then, with companions, or else alone, but it always felt too intimate and exposed and he found it difficult to be privy to the hopes and fears of strangers. 

Eventually he managed to locate a medium who would sit with him for hour in his own parlour. She would touch his hand and describe the spirit who had come to him. Never his mother - it was always a young boy and his eyes, she said, were as big as moon daisies. Sean held the picture of him in his mind and it seemed sometimes, that he could see him standing against the bureau as clear as day, his face shallow and his eyes unblinking. The boy was silent for many weeks and then one day he spoke and the words drove into his heart like thorns. 

Closing his eyes, Sean tried to forget, even as the image of the boy spilled into his mind, blurring with Elijah and confusing the two, making Sean tremble. He would rather the flesh and blood boy than any crazed vision of his own making and he was glad he had not seen hide nor hair of the pale boy since coming here to this silent, sleeping place. He never had comforting words to tell, only hard truths. 

He was with him that day, that last day, standing outside the factory gates. Sean tried to stop the thought before it could arise and grow monstrously in his mind. Not now…not now…Sean begged…but the thought was relentless and would not give let him go, it drew near with a grinding noise of pistons and cranks. Burying his head under the pillow, Sean willed another thought to enter his head, something to subsume the darkness and transport him. He wouldn’t look to the spirits; he needed something substantial, something earthly, that might ground him to this place, this bed. A sharp, blue gaze pierced him and he nearly cried out with the feelings it aroused. Panting, in the darkness beneath his pillow, he screwed his eyes closed. 

_Elijah_ …he breathed. _Make me forget…_

~ ~ ~

‘Here we are!’ Brutus grinned, his darkly-bristled face peering beneath the edge of the canvas, crushed against the grass. ‘The very best!’

Leonie stretched and rousing herself from her doze on the chaise longue, propped herself on her elbows. ‘Bring it in then, man,’ she yawned, rolling her eyes.

Being small, Brutus could fit easily under the awning and soon slid himself and three large bottles of gin into the confines of Elijah’s booth where a small company had gathered. 

‘Here,’ Leonie ordered and raised an arm, neatly catching the tossed bottle in her hand and unstopping the lid with her teeth. 

‘Don’t you go chipping those fangs,’ Brutus warned, passing the second bottle to Ruby and settling himself down on the floor beside Elijah, who was looking about for the fourth. Noticing Elijah’s roving gaze, Brutus turned to the boy with a conciliatory smile. ‘Plenty for the both of us…’ he offered. ‘ Enough for two little ‘uns.’

‘Pahh!’ spat Leonie. ‘You drink more than the three of us put together, you little worm! Don’t worry Lijah, you can have some of this.’ Wiping the neck of her bottle, she passed it over to Elijah, who took it gratefully and began to drink quietly, looking thoughtful. 

Brutus laughed loudly and opened his bottle viscously with the heel of his boot. ‘Got’cha,’ he said, swallowing a large mouthful and sighing with pleasure. ‘Great stuff. Truly evil.’

‘Quite foul,’ Leonie agreed, accepting the bottle back from Elijah and taking another long swig. ‘So what mood’s he in tonight then? What’s he eating?’

‘Pheasant stew,’ Brutus announced, grandly. ‘He’s lucky he had nothing more.’

‘I would, if it were me,’ Ruby sneered. ‘I’ll add something alright.’

‘And that, my dear lady, is why I do the cooking and you are confined to the tent.’

‘He doesn’t trust us,’ Leonie agreed. ‘And rightly so.’

‘How can you stand it?’ Ruby said, putting down her bottle. 

‘Oh I like to get a glimpse of those private quarters, have a bit of feel about, see what little dainties I can lay my fingers on…’ he looked to the bottles meaningfully and winked. 

‘Oh!’ cried Ruby. ‘They’re his! You robbed him!’

‘No, no just collecting my due.’ 

‘You sneaky git,’ Leonie laughed. ‘What else did you find?’

‘Patience,’ Brutus smiled. ‘Softly, softly…can’t be too greedy now.’

‘He’ll know they’ve gone, I bet he’s marked every one, he’ll look to you…’ Ruby warned. 

‘Yes but where’s the proof?’ Brutus took a long swig and then a slow, wide smile slid over his cheeks. ‘Besides I’m too precious.’

‘You’re precious alright,’ Ruby agreed. 

Elijah sat up a little more and stared at Brutus, his face suddenly very pale and thoughtful. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean I’m too valuable to him. If he gets me arrested he’ll be losing money. He can’t touch me.’

‘What about that nasty whip he has by his side?’ Leonie said. ‘He’ll use that on you.’

‘No he won’t.’ Brutus shook his head emphatically. ‘It would despoil the goods.’

‘But he used it on Lijah...’ Ruby began.

Elijah stood up abruptly. ‘No,’ he said, firmly. ‘No, he didn’t. He never lashed me with it, only let me feel the threat of it.’

‘That’s bad enough, cruel bastard,’ Ruby cursed.

‘But you’re right, Brutus,’ Elijah went on. ‘There’s nothing he can do.’

Brutus looked at Elijah with a quirked brow. ‘What are you thinking?’

Elijah didn’t reply, but walked over to the illuminated white wall of the tent and leant his body back against it, feeling the shiver of the canvas. ‘He’s kept me here like a slave,’ Elijah said slowly, tipping the bottle against his lips. ‘I want him to know how that feels.’

Ruby leaped to her feet, the bells on her ankles tinkling in agitation. ‘Don’t mess with V – I know him, Lijah, I know him better than most. You put those thoughts right out of your little head now!’ Approaching Elijah, she raised her arm and ran her fingers lightly through his hair. ‘Don’t you go making him mad.’

Elijah swallowed and blinked. ‘He can’t touch me.’

‘We’ll all suffer for it…’ Ruby went on. ‘This is a good life, my darlin’, we’re looked after, we’re fed, we have freedom we could never have dreamed of back in town. You could still be in the Workhouse, Lijah, in that big cold stinking hole, if he hadn’t come and taken you out of it. There’s worse lives than this…I’ve seen some of it and I wouldn’t go back, not for nothing…’

‘He stole me,’ Elijah said. ‘He told my ma he was the quack come to see me. He said I had a condition he could fix. Said I had the devil in me and it needed driving out.’

Ruby’s hand in his hair had fallen still and her fingers seemed to wilt. ‘The sneaking…’

Leonie laughed abruptly, and the sound of it was like a mirror shattering. ‘One can only imagine the cure!’ 

‘You never told us, why did you never tell us that?’ Ruby whined.

‘I don’t like thinking about it,’ Elijah replied. ‘It’s like scratching at a sore place. Well, at least he’s never got me, not like that.’

‘Not for want of trying.’ Brutus huffed a laugh. 

‘Says he likes the waiting, makes the winning all the sweeter,’ Elijah mimicked.

‘So what’s in your pretty little head?’ Leonie asked listlessly, filing her long, twisted nails to sharp points. ‘How shall you enslave him? You’ve looked him in the eye enough times and that has not achieved the desired result.’

Elijah spoke slowly. ‘Show him what he wants, show him enough to imagine how it might be, how it might feel, show him enough…’ 

‘To drive him wild,’ Leonie finished, flashing her green eyes.

‘That’s madness, Lijah!’ Ruby cried. ‘You’d be a fool to try him so!’

‘The boy’s got guts, that’s for sure!’ Brutus laughed. 

‘He can’t touch me,’ Elijah continued, almost trance-like. ‘If he touches me, he breaks his own illusion, he makes me real - flesh and blood - and then I would be nothing to him, I would be worthless.’ 

‘That’s risky,’ Brutus shook his head. ‘If he’s mad enough he might not care. He can paint you up; pretend you’re still that precious creature in the mirror. You could push him too far…’

‘Then I would go and he would lose me altogether.’ Elijah responded. 

‘Where would you go?’ Ruby insisted, wheedling slightly and kissing his cheek. ‘We’re your family now. Yes? You wouldn’t leave us would you darlin’?’

Elijah was silent, but turned to Ruby and kissed her softly. ‘Trust me,’ he said. ‘I know what to do.’


	7. Chapter 7

When Sean woke it was late afternoon and the sun was sinking behind the garden walls, leaving his room in shadow and the house in a watery quiet so strange and so deep it seemed to hum to itself. Shivering a little, despite the humid weather, Sean sat up and pulled on the first clean, pressed shirt that he could find. Suddenly disorientated, he wondered for a moment if the events of the previous day and night had really happened, or if they were merely feverish imaginings brought on by the odd, deep silence of this place and the utter exhaustion of his mind and body. He wondered if he should kneel and pray for a while, draw on the guidance of those spirits on whom he had come to rely, and yet he felt strangely unwilling to open that door, and instead, sat on the bed and tried to gather his thoughts. 

The house was still silent and there was no sign of his sister or the servants of the house. If he listened hard he could hear the deep tock-tock of the clock in the hall but nothing else. Only the sound of his own breath and the beating of his heart and very distant, but insistent as always, the clank and grind of relentless machinery. Sean shied away from dwelling too long or too hard on what might come – how and where he would see the boy again – and turned instead to practical concerns. He felt hunger creeping over him at last, the hollow ache in his stomach rising and lurching now, desperate at last. 

Reluctant to leave the little sanctuary of his room, Sean stepped out onto the gloomy landing and looked at the lines of shuttered doors to his left and right. His feet padding across the carpets were stifled, the fibres swallowing noise wherever he put his feet and the heavy drapes across the long stairwell window, extinguishing the muted colours of the stained glass. He wondered if he should ring the bell in the hall to summon the maid, but somehow he was afraid of the shrill noise echoing in the emptiness and instead he made his own way down the passage to the kitchens. 

The room was orderly and tidy with everything in its place – the long beech table scrubbed white, the plates and cups stacked neatly on the dresser, the range clean and leaded and the windows bright with vinegar. The room was deep below ground level but it was usually snug because the range was always alight and pots were often left simmering over it. Today, however, there was no fire lit and the room struck chill. Opening cupboards, trying to find something to satisfy the gnawing inside, Sean found the dark little larder and the pantry. There were cold meats hanging in the gloom and preserves and pickles lined the shelves. Searching the higher shelves, he found little else, but leading, baking soda and boxes of soap flakes and candles. There was very little to eat, and no fresh provisions had been brought to the house that day, for it seemed that there was no-one left to order them. It was eerie – almost as if all the inhabitants of the house had vanished into thin air as they went about their business. Perhaps his sister had been worried over his absence and had gone out in search of him? But surely she would leave someone at the house? It wasn’t like her. She was nervous of walking out alone. 

Forcing himself to eat, Sean sat down on one of the hard kitchen chairs to consume a cold dinner, drinking down gallons of water with every difficult mouthful, for he felt suddenly extremely thirsty. As he forced down the food, his mind whirred on, like a dazed fly throwing itself against the shade of a lamp. He kept slipping a thread even as he tried to grasp what might have happened in this house, and fell again and again into visions of the lamp-lit tent and the enchanted boy. _Eyes to enslave men’s souls…_ Putting down his fork, he sat frozen, as if waiting to be erased himself; just waiting, time blurring and the silence settling. 

His heart leapt, an awful lurch, like a flame rising out of a dead fire, and Sean came back to his senses, wondering what it had been that had called him back. Then it came again – a rattling knock at the door. Rising unsteadily to his feet, Sean walked slowly back through the passage into the hall, blinking in the gloom, looking around for a lamp to light. There was someone at the door; he could see their silhouette against the glass panel. Anxiety made his hands unsteady with the lock. Stepping back into the hall as the door swung wide, Sean held his breath. At first he thought there was no-one there but the darkness and the overhanging ivy, but as he looked harder he could just discern a deeper pattern of darkness at the bottom of the steps, a slender column. 

Drawn impulsively on, Sean stepped out into the garden and down the steps and as he came closer the shape began to resolve itself into the form of a woman with hair blacker than the cloak that caved around her head. 

‘Ruby?’ Sean whispered, uncertain. 

Thrusting out her hand she offered Sean a piece of dirty paper, a ripped off shred from a ballad sheet, scrawled upon by an unpractised hand. ‘Here,’ she hissed. ‘I’d do anything for him, you see, even this.’

Sean squinted down at the note in his hand, trying to make out the words. The thin moonlight cast a little light onto the paper but barely enough to make sense of the tangle of wayward letters, like little curling leaves all growing in the wrong directions. He managed to recognise need, by the confident N, even though the D was back to front, and tonight, partly because he desired to see it so much it seemed to assemble itself as if by magic. Elijah’s name at the bottom was delicate and tilting and Sean ran his fingertips over it like a caress. 

Ruby was still waiting, ‘So you’ll come?’ she asked, brusquely.

Sean looked up. ‘Yes,’ he replied thoughtfully. ‘Very soon, please tell him, very soon…’

Ruby clicked her tongue. ‘Yes well, come if you’re coming, or else stay away. Don’t you go messing him about.’

Looking at her with an intense emotion in his eyes, Sean’s voice was clear and determined as he spoke. ‘I won’t let him down.’

‘Good,’ Ruby nodded and curling her arms around her thin body, she slipped out of the garden gate and disappeared into the dark. ‘Before midnight!’ she called, her voice trailing behind her like smoke.

~ ~ ~

It was growing late. Sean paced the floor, his head full of visions of Elijah waiting for him in the tent. He opened the drapes countless times to look down the dark street, all the little cottages shuttered now, lamplight spilling through the gap onto the road. It was late – close to eleven now and the longer Sean waited – the more frantic he became – his mind whirling with terrible visions of Catherine lying in the deep hedgerow. He tried to focus his mind on something innocuous and mundane, just as he had been taught to do when locating the spirits, and he stared at a dull green vase on the mantelpiece so hard it seemed he might shatter under his gaze.

And when the door rattled as a key turned in the lock, Sean’s heart whipped inside him. 

Catherine stood in the doorway, her dark walking cloak still wrapped around her, her face flushed and her eyes bright and for a moment they just stared at one another in amazement as if they were both looking at ghosts. 

‘Where have you been?’ Catherine was the first to speak and when she did her voice was soft and tired. It seemed to take up all the strength left in her and she sank down onto a chair. 

Sean came quickly to her side. ‘Cate! Never mind that – I’ve been going out of mind with worry!’ 

‘You?’ Catherine sounded confused as he lifted her head to look into Sean’s eyes. ‘ _You_ were worried?’

‘You’ve been gone all day and the maids – the maids seem to have disappeared.’

Catherine nodded slowly. ‘Yes, yes, I sent them away.’

Sean frowned. ‘Why?’

‘They were talking,’ Catherine replied quietly. ‘Telling tales in the street. I had to let them go.’

‘Do you have anyone to take their place?’ Sean asked, crouching down beside his sister. 

Catherine shook her head. ‘I’ll manage, for a time.’ Drawing off her gloves, she went on, ‘Soon you’ll be back in town and I shall likely go away…’

Sean’s heart lurched at the mention of town, ‘Go away?’ he repeated. ‘You’re thinking of moving?’

‘I don’t know, Sean.’ Catherine sighed and collapsed a little further into her seat.

‘Shall I fetch you something to eat?’ Sean asked, noticing how thin she looked and how weary.

‘No, I have already eaten.’ Catherine said, closing her eyes. 

‘So where have you been?’ Sean asked once more. 

Catherine’s eyes slid open and held Sean’s with an intensity that made his skin prickle. They were a hard pale blue where his were soft green. ‘Where have _you_ been?’ she said. 

They stared at one another, both unable to reply. A web of secrets had spun itself between them which neither wanted to disturb.

‘I shall go to bed,’ she yawned, pressing the back of her hand against her mouth. ‘I am so tired.’ 

Drawing off her coat, she laid it carelessly over the back of a sofa where it slipped soundlessly to the carpet and as she walked away, her black mourning gown swishing against the floor, Sean thought suddenly how black might disguise any mark.

~ ~ ~

It was just shy of midnight when Sean finally climbed over the gate and into the fairground field. All the tents were still standing in a circle and the wagons parked in the shade alongside the dewy high hedge. But the scene seemed a lot quieter than the previous night. Small cooking fires were dying down to embers and the tents and wagons were lit up as if the company had already retired for the night. Only in the large round entertainment tent was there any sign of activity. There was a hard voice coming from within and the sound of construction and labour.

The grass was soft and wet around his ankles and soaked into the bottom of his trousers as he walked down the gentle slope into the field. Elijah’s note was gripped in the palm of his hand and his heart was racing with eagerness as he walked around the hedge, keeping well out of the firelight. The moon had long since drifted behind a cloud and the night was utterly still, the wind having died down and settled to sleep.

Finding the wagon, Sean glanced up at the lurid pictures splashed across the side as he crept past to where the tent was erected, long and lavishly fringed with a canopy of red and gold. There was a fitful, flickering light from within and when he saw it Sean immediately wondered if the light was for him alone, to draw him like a ship at sea. 

Suddenly finding his ankle grasped in a tight grip, Sean looked down and saw Ruby wriggling under the canvas, lifting it open for him to follow, gesturing for him to keep quiet. Taking one quick look back, he threw himself to the ground, holding his breath as he inched himself under the raised canvas, his face pressed against the damp earth. Once through, Ruby slipped back outside and pegged down the rend hard with the heel of her boot and Sean found himself alone in the dimly-lit tent, beside the curtained mirror.

‘Hello?’ he called out softly. There was no reply, only the hissing of the gas lamps. 

And then, without warning, the curtain dropped and slithered to the ground. 

Elijah was alone. He sat as if for exhibition, on the chair surrounded by drapes, as absorbed by folds of light and dark. There were several candles set about, their flames leaning sideways in the draught, which seemed only to intensify the depth of the shadows. He was sitting so still he looked as if he had been sculpted from cold stone. Made to such a design of perfection, just so he might be filled with the breath of life at some magical appointment and made flesh. His unblinking eyes glowed black and blue and gold. 

Sean couldn’t speak, he could only stand and look as he had done before, mesmerised by his beauty and his stillness. He could hardly believe that this was the same boy he had spoken with – that this boy of shadow and moonlight and the other; bright, worldly, determined - were one and the same. But of course this was all part of the show, it was an illusion, put on for the audience, a trick of the light. 

‘You don’t need to do this for me,’ Sean said softly. ‘I came to see _you_.”

Elijah blinked once, twice, and then seemed to recover himself and drew in all his strength to stare at him once more, his eyes yet more steady and penetrating.

‘May I come in?’

Elijah nodded silently, never once taking his eyes from Sean’s face. 

The room was as dark as the parlour in Sean’s London house when he had draped it in hushed velvet for the spirits; and it held within its folds, the same expectancy and seduction. Sean had never acknowledged it before but now he felt with every fibre of his being, there was seduction in those heavy drapes and in the intense, thick breathing silence that hung in the air when the medium closed her eyes. It was a way into the forbidden world that lay beyond the veil. Not so different to this, not so very different. You had to reach through the veil, close your eyes and stretch out your hand blindly into the dark to find the answers. Although, perhaps he had been asking the wrong questions all along.

Stepping through the sheer curtains and into the booth, Sean stood in the circle of candlelight and looked desire in the face. 

‘Don’t come any closer.’ 

The authority in Elijah’s eyes rooted Sean to the spot, and the shock of his words made him falter, as if all the cards he had carefully arranged in his mind had been snatched up and scattered about the room. 

‘You can look,’ Elijah continued, his voice measured and firm. ‘But you can’t touch.’

Once more Sean found himself a voyeur, no better than those men who pressed themselves against the pages of forbidden books. This wasn’t what he wanted, and yet his eyes absorbed what they could of the beauty before him, loving the illusion, amazed by the pools of dark shadow in his glistening eyes, by the pale flawless fragility of his skin, by the languid, perfect grace.

It seemed a brutal and terrible thing to disturb this illusion, like taking an embroidered cloth and tugging out the silks one by one to see how it was made – a lap full of tattered threads with just the bare weave before him – and he found he couldn’t do it, he hadn’t the courage, and there was a warning in Elijah’s eyes that made him wary. He knew without a doubt that if he attempted to move one step closer, the curtain would fall once more and he would be left in the dark, visionless and alone.

Sean knew he must speak; feel blindly through the thick, heavy darkness that had fallen between them. ‘How long have you been here, Elijah?’ Sean asked, wanting at least to learn a little more. 

Elijah’s eyes flickered and barely imperceptibly, he shifted. ‘Do you want to see a trick?’ 

Sean didn’t know whether Elijah had failed to hear his question, or had chosen to ignore it, but sensing it was the latter, Sean nodded, feeling his words hanging awkwardly in the air between them, refusing to dissolve. 

Reaching beneath him, under the tattered upholstery and the dusty velvet, Elijah drew out a pack of cards. They fitted neatly under his palm and when he shuffled them with a single flick of the hand, Sean felt them vibrate like butterflies trapped against glass. 

‘Bring a candle closer – I can’t see,’ Elijah instructed, spreading the cards before him on the ground. 

Picking up a candle, Sean came closer, surprised by Elijah’s sudden change of mood.   
Elijah indicated where Sean should place the lamp with a brief gesture of his hand, his eyes raking the cards laid out before him. As Sean drew closer, he had a clearer view of the cards and the pictures on them and realised, with a jolt of surprise, that these were not ordinary playing cards, but those packs that fortune tellers use, the mysterious picture cards that spirits spoke through. 

At once Sean grew alarmed, he could feel his own spirits clamouring, complaining, whispering warnings in his head. He didn’t want them here, not now, and yet he knew he was a fool to think he could hide from their eyes; they were a part of him and were privy to all his secret thoughts and desires, they would come whenever they were summoned, flying to the fingers of this young man as surely as they would come to the steady, solemn hands of the medium in his house in Greenwich Street. 

Hoping to distract Elijah from his studious turning of the cards, Sean attempted once more to engage him in conversation. ‘Where were you born, Elijah?’ 

Elijah made no response, but seemed absorbed in the hidden cards that were slowing unfolding in front of his eyes. Gradually, they resolved themselves into a stack of five, which were shuffled cleverly inside his palm and then laid face down at his feet. 

Sean looked at their blank faces nervously. 

Elijah looked up at Sean, his blue eyes flaring for a moment, like the blue flame inside a jet of gas. ‘I’m going to turn them now, Sean,’ he said, almost intimately.

Sean shivered, watching as Elijah’s fingers tripped over the first card, moving it so subtly with the tips of his fingers, it appeared to move of its own accord, as if provoked by an invisible source. The lurid illustration on the face of the card burned on the white canvas of the groundsheet, as brilliant and shocking as the illustrations on the side of the wagon.

‘The Emperor,’ Elijah stated, stroking the face of the card, his finger rubbing the well-thumbed glossy surface. 

Sean swallowed, feeling his skin starting to prickle as if with the pressure of a thousand needles and pins. 

Elijah was gazing at the proud face of the ornately decorated man on the card. ‘A rich man, Sean,’ he murmured, ‘a leader of men, everything he sets out to achieve falls at his feet. He walks through lofty rooms and men and women bow their heads and hold out their hands for their pay. He smiles at them because he’s given them work and occupation and taken them off the streets. He feels proud…’

Sean has taken a step back into the shadows, his heartbeat is thick and slow and his hands softly shake. 

‘Tall dark mansions,’ Elijah continues, ‘Three hundred windows, tiny squares in two tall towers burning in the night.’

Sean can barely breathe, only wait in astonishment, feeling the spirits rise.

Elijah’s eyes are wide and thoughtful as he turns over the second card. ‘The Devil,’ he nods, as if he was expecting this fearful apparition. He turns to Sean and holds him in his gaze. ‘Are you scared of the cards, Sean?’

Sean shakes his head, his arms crossed tight across his chest. 

‘Wish you hadn’t come?’ 

Sean does, but he won’t let the fear defeat him, nor the memories that begin to rise like smoke from the ashes of a dead fire. Instead he steps forward and stares the painted devil in the face. He wonders if the figure represents himself, but he is too afraid to ask. Elijah watches him with interest and then sighs, allowing his fingers to stray across the tips of the leaping orange flames.

‘Something bad….’ Elijah considers. ‘A disaster, an unexpected fall, some kind of devastation - _an accident?_ ’

Sean knows Elijah is guessing, hoping for an interjection, but Sean can’t speak. The memories are rising like a tide of dark water and any of the words would fit, each one makes his heart drop heavy as a stone.

‘That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?’ Elijah frowns as the puzzle fits together in his head. ‘That’s why you’re scared.’

Sean turns to leave, but Elijah stops him with a word. ‘Wait!’

Unable to resist, Sean reels round with a groan, running his hands down his face, hiding from the bright, searing awareness in Elijah’s eyes. Elijah’s fingers move fast, brushing over the third card. 

‘The Fool.’ 

Sean sinks to the ground, defeated and more vulnerable than he has ever felt in his life, the image of the jester painted onto the inside of his mind. 

‘A new beginning,’ Elijah affirms, his voice softening, blunting the sharpness as he lists the card’s surprising attributes. ‘Unexpected possibilities, rashness, passion, _pleasure…_ ’

Sean can feel Elijah’s eyes burning into his skin and suddenly he knows. He knows what the boy must feel when the watchers stand behind the rope and stare, delving into him as if his skin will melt away beneath the ferocity of their gaze. His heart leaps to the words, losing its weight, loosening itself from its cage. He is afraid to open his eyes. 

The spirits are not here. No one is here, but himself and Elijah and this awareness feels as light and dream-like as laudenum in his veins. 

‘Shall I turn the next one?’ 

Sean murmurs his assent and Elijah’s hand sweeps over the fourth. ‘The Lovers,’ he says, almost triumphantly, with the curve of a smile in his voice.

A feeling like flying, as if his back has split open and wings have torn free, Sean forces himself to listen through the beating in his head. 

‘The start of a new love, harmony, trust…’

The words are like soft caresses. Sean feels himself growing hotter, as if he is melting from within, shedding layers, loosening feather after feather. 

‘And the last?’ Elijah turns over the final card, revealing a dark and angry picture, a chariot with flaming wheels roaring above a black mountain. 

Sean looks at the card with foreboding. ‘What does that mean?’ he says after several long minutes have past in which Elijah has sat deep in thought, gnawing on his bottom lip. 

‘The Chariot,’ Elijah exhales. ‘Has rash choices to make in haste – he must put good sense behind him and act without forethought. There’s a threat there, a terrible vengeance. He must act on his heart. There’s a journey…. I don’t know….it’s harder to see the future – the past is clearer.’ 

Sean is enthralled, envisaging a future laid out before him like a map of a wild and dangerous country and as he stares down at the cards, he sears their lurid images onto his brain, as if they mark the safest way, his eyes wide and haunted in the greenish fitful light. 

Elijah reaches out and turns up the gas, the lamp flaring with a brighter, clearer light. When he turns back to Sean he moves slowly, softly, watching his face thoughtfully as if he is suddenly aware of the other man’s emotions. He looks down at the splayed cards.

‘Of course it’s all rubbish,’ he says, erasing them with one smooth sweep of his hand. ‘It’s a trick I learnt from my mum. I used to deal them out for the girls in the workhouse – they loved it. They’re never happy, always wanting to know what’s around the corner, hoping for better. I could give them that.’

Sean blinked in the bright light, looking up into Elijah’s face as he shuffled the cards in one palm, over and over. 

‘Were you lying – just then – what you said - was it all invention?’ Sean faltered.

Elijah looked up, but didn’t reply, instead he seemed to be puzzling over the mingled confused hope and fear in Sean’s eyes, and a softness came over him, as if with the beginnings of regret. Slipping the cards back under the upholstery, he knelt beside Sean and very gently and hesitantly laid his hand over the back of Sean’s own hand. Surprised by the sudden contact, he almost gasped, but stopped himself before the sound could escape. He was amazed by the small, fine boned hand, so pale lying over his golden brown skin, a ghostly thing, but imbued with such fire. He could feel the racing pulse thrumming over his wrist like an over-wound watch. 

‘Sean,’ Elijah whispered, his breath hot and moist against Sean’s ear. ‘I’m sorry I scared you.’

Sean didn’t know if he was referring to a lie, a shockingly truthful divination, or the placing of his hand, but Sean forgave him at once and entirely. Consumed by a wave of tenderness, he placed his other hand over the boy’s, pressing it between them and holding it lightly like an imprisoned butterfly. 

‘You must tell me what you need,’ Sean urged.

Elijah’s eyes flicked to the right, as if alert to distant sounds. Satisfied, he turned back to Sean, his eyes brimming with a strange emotion that Sean could not put a name to. ‘This?’ he said.

Without searching in his mind for explanations, or dictates to follow, Sean’s right hand cupped Elijah’s cheek and stroked, amazed by its softness and the curving sharpness of the jutting bones beneath. His thumb raced over Elijah’s jaw, tracing the angle of his chin before hovering mere inches away from full parted lips. Breathless, he waited; their eyes locked.

‘You can kiss me if you like.’

Elijah’s words fluttered over Sean’s thumb, fast and warm and inviting and Sean felt a sharp twist of desire. 

_Only in dreams, only in dreams have I imagined this and it is sweeter than anything I might have conjured from the dark._

Closing his eyes, Sean tipped Elijah’s head back and covered his expectant mouth with his own. At first he did no more than press their lips together, not daring to move, thrilled by the warmth and the intimacy of this simple act. He didn’t move his body, or seek for more, despite the urgings of his body. It was enough just to feel the warm breaths against his own and taste the smoky sweetness of his skin. 

_So this is how it feels…_

It was Elijah who grew impatient, and clasping Sean around the waist with firm hands, moved his mouth in hunger, parting Sean’s lips with his slender tongue and pushing it within. At first Sean was shocked by the invasion and froze as Elijah enticed his tongue with small, darting stabs. But soon, the blossoming warmth this act provoked, made him moan with delirious joy and his tongue curled up around Elijah’s in response. 

Soon, too soon, Elijah pulled away, kissing Sean softly, twice, three times with flushed, full lips, arching back almost regretfully as he let his hands fall. 

‘That was nice,’ he smiled, rising to his feet. 

Sean’s head swam and his body ached in protest as he looked up at Elijah with hazy eyes; the boy looked restless and was biting at the edge of his nails. 

Concerned, Sean forced himself to his feet. ‘What is it, Elijah?’

Elijah brushed his fingers through his long dark curls. ‘Do you have any cigarettes?’ 

Sean shook his head. ‘I’m afraid I don’t smoke anymore.’

As if suddenly weary, Elijah stopped his agitated steps and seemed to visibly slump on his feet. 

Sean walked over to him and touched him lightly on the shoulder. It seemed an indifferent caress after the sensuous delight of the kiss, and yet it seemed all that Elijah would allow. 

‘I’m sorry if I have offended you, hurt you in any way….all I want, all I want in all the world is to help you.’ 

When Elijah turned his head, his eyes were full of tears. ‘Go now Sean,’ he whispered, urgently. ‘Please.’

‘Is it _him?_ ’ Sean felt a shocking jealous loathing for the man, the man who had called him that hateful name. 

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about!’ Elijah shouted, his voice fading into a sob. 

Shaken by the anger in Elijah’s voice, Sean replied softly, ‘If you wish me to go, then I will, I don’t want to upset you or put you in any danger.’ 

‘Then why did you come?’ Elijah’s words struck Sean’s heart like knives.

‘Because the desire to see you and to help you was greater than the fear,’ he said. ‘If only you would trust me, we could go, we could leave tonight!’ 

Elijah collapsed onto the chaise longue, tucking his knees up under his chin and drawing the folds of his costume around him. ‘I’m tired,’ he murmured, closing his eyes. 

Filled with remorse for his impatience and his thoughtlessness, Sean knelt down and blew out the candles, bathing Elijah in soft embracing shadow.

‘Goodnight Elijah,’ he said, but the boy seemed already lost in dreams and didn’t reply. Sean looked around for a blanket to cover him from the encroaching cold, but found nothing but his own cream linen jacket which he draped over him as carefully as he could, tucking it around his curled form, trying not to disturb him.

‘The door’s open.’

The voice behind him made him start. 

‘You can leave.’

Ruby stood in the doorway, wrapped in her dark cloak, holding the curtain wide so that he might pass. She looked stern and assessing, eyeing the room and its occupants coldly with suspicion and mistrust. Sean wondered how long she had been waiting and whether she had seen or overheard any of what had passed between them. He thought of Elijah’s raised voice and a horrible shame crept over him. 

Thanking her and bidding her a goodnight, he passed under her arm and out into the dark corridor, sensing her mere inches behind, dogging his footsteps as he moved towards the sliver of light that marked the entrance to the tent.


	8. Chapter 8

A full moon swung drunkenly in and out of sight, as Sean made his way back along the winding lanes, beneath trees grown so thick they arched overhead in whispering tunnels of silvery green. There was not a soul in sight, only the shallow sound of his own breaths and the clicking of his shoes. 

He walked fast, his body suddenly light and invigorated with such energy; he felt he could walk for a hundred miles and not grow weary. There was so much to think about, that it seemed safer to just to feel; excitement sparked in his fingertips, his blood raced through his veins, everything had changed. He could look at the peeking moon and suddenly see its haunting beauty, as if for the first time. The stars made him giddy. Laughing breathlessly, he nearly stumbled over his own feet as he peered up through the lacing branches. 

He would never have heard the footsteps behind him, if it had not been for the sudden calming of the wind, and the little hush that followed, and by then it was too late. 

‘Good evening, sir.’

Feeling the cold bite of metal at his throat, Sean froze, excitement lurching sickeningly into fear.

‘I’ve been watching you. I know where you’ve been…’ Despite the soft tone of his voice, there was a cruel smile within it, which made the words hang drunkenly, like a leer. 

Sean tried to swallow, every nerve flinching away from the sharp blade at his throat and every fibre of his being protesting at such a brutal end to his sudden and unexpected joy. The man was smaller than him, lighter of stature, and where his black-stained hands clutched the sharpened metal, they shook. If he had wanted to kill him, he would be dead by now, Sean reasoned, there was something else. He remembered how still and calm Elijah could become and he tried to will his own flesh to wax, emotionless and cold, unable to feel pain, or bear a scar. 

‘Just imagine what I could tell them up there,’ the man hissed in Sean’s ear, jerking his arm in the direction of the village. ‘How I could make their shutters rattle.’ He laughed unpleasantly and then leaned his head against Sean’s, just briefly, in a strange pantomime gesture of remorse. ‘But of course there’s no need for all that upset, not really…and it would be a shame for Cathy to get to hear of it…that would be shocking for a lady like herself…you taking your pleasure of fairground freaks.’

Sean flinched at the words, as the leaves whispered, laughing over his head, and the moon gazed down impassively.

‘How do you know my sister?’ The words grated in his throat. 

‘I knew her husband. We were good friends at one time. He was fond of the cards, old Henry - too fond some might say.’

Sean’s heart clenched like a fist. 

‘He never paid his debts,’ the man whispered, tipping the blade up against Sean’s chin.

‘You are lying,’ Sean’s voice trembled beneath his outrage. ‘Henry was a gentlemen and devout.’

‘Just like his good lady, I suppose?’ Laughter snaked into his ear. ‘For an educated gentleman, you’re a fool.’

‘I don’t believe you. Why have you never claimed this debt before?’ 

‘Oh I have,’ the voice whispered. ‘I have been collecting my debt as regular as clockwork.’

Sean frowned, trying to understand. ‘From whom?’

‘Where do you think your sister’s been when she comes back with dirt on her dress?’

A horrible feeling of dread, like the fall of an open staircase, broken and dangling in mid-air opened up beneath him. ‘If you have harmed my sister in any way….’

‘I don’t think you’re in a position to be making threats, are you now, sir? Whatever I say can only make things worse for her – just imagine the shame.’

‘She would have spoken to me about this.’

‘Oh! For shame…perhaps she wanted it a secret, perhaps she didn’t want to have to settle that debt altogether? Perhaps there was a little in it for her too – old Henry being thirty years her senior after all?’ 

‘Don’t speak of my sister like that!’ Sean snapped, jerking the man’s arm away and backing up against the trunk of a tree. He could look him in the face now, and as he stared at the fair-haired man, snub-nosed and cocky, recognition began to dawn. ‘I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?’ 

The man only smiled.

‘You passed me at the fair, down the hill as I was climbing…’ _Looking for Catherine,_ Sean recalled, pieces fitting together in his mind with awful precision. 

‘She’s at home now, waiting. Shall we go?’ 

Who she was waiting for remained unclear, but Sean knew that he had no choice but to walk, the fair haired man sauntering two steps behind, the glint of the blade in his hand, singing as he walked, a song from the broadsides: 

_He flies through the air with the greatest of ease,  
That daring young man on the flying trapeze._

~ ~ ~

“Well, it’s done now.”

Elijah relaxed and as a result, felt every muscle in his body twinge in complaint. He rubbed his eyes; they were irritating him today, more so than usual and he felt worn down and weary, as if his body and soul were being slowly erased. There was a stubborn feeling of misery in the pit of his stomach, which wouldn’t shift no matter how hard he kicked it. 

‘Just think,’ Ruby thrust her head around the curtain. ‘Only one more day and then we’ll be out of this wretched hole.’ 

Elijah peered at his friend through watering eyes. ‘And into another.’

‘I see your little plan didn’t work out as well you’d hoped,’ Ruby remarked, entering Elijah’s booth and sitting down near his feet, where she slowly started to unlace his pinching boots. 

‘I don’t want to talk about it, if you don’t mind,’ Elijah replied dully, wriggling his cramped toes as they were released from their confinement. 

‘He didn’t look so happy coming out as he did going in – do you know, I almost felt sorry for him?’ Ruby continued, concentrating on the swift movement of her fingers over the laces. 

‘Ruby…’ Elijah warned. 

‘I know you don’t want to talk details, I can understand that, but I worry for you Lijah and you know how foolish I think this plan of yours is.’ Having freed the second foot and thrown aside the boot, Ruby looked up with a sudden, raw emotion in her face. ‘Just forget it now, won’t you darlin’? You don’t have to do this!’

‘He won’t hurt me.’ Elijah stated firmly, rubbing the aching sole of one naked foot with the toes of the other. 

‘Who?’ Ruby frowned. ‘ _Him_ or the other?’

Elijah closed his eyes for a moment, looking suddenly frighteningly pale. 

Ruby knelt up and laid her hand on Elijah’s knee. ‘Even if he saw, even if he did, I can explain it away, it wouldn’t be hard. I’ll think of something. I couldn’t bear it, Lijah… we’re a family here, you and me; we’re like brother and sister! …God you were taking a risk, Lijah, my heart was beating so fast I thought I would faint, you’re lucky he didn’t rip the tent to shreds to murder you both… Let me go to him now, let me explain! It’s not too late…’ 

‘No!’ Elijah looked determined. ‘I’ve started this thing now and I’m going to finish it. Don’t beg Ruby, I don’t like it.’

Ruby’s eyes narrowed as she rose to her feet. ‘So your mind’s made up?’

‘Yes.’

Ruby strode over to the corner of the booth and pulled out a small glass bottle of green glass. ‘Then you’d better steel yourself – he’ll be along soon.’ Unscrewing the stopper she approached Elijah and offered it to him. ‘He has big plans for tomorrow. Have you heard? There’s going to be a show and he wants you for it.’ 

Turning his face into the cushions, Elijah refused. 

Ruby grasped his shoulder and pulled him back, pressing the bottle against his lips. ‘Go on – you’ll be needing that.’

Elijah had no choice but to drink and took a few drops of the bitter tasting liquid onto his tongue. Satisfied, Ruby sat back down on the floor, crossing her legs neatly and fingering the soft, rippling fabric of her pantaloons.

Sitting up and rubbing his eyes once more, Elijah tried to shake the cobwebs from his mind. ‘This show?’

‘Hmmm?’ Ruby tugged at a loose thread, drawing it out as if it stole all her attention.

‘What is it?’

‘A big one,’ Ruby replied. ‘For the Wakes. They get crowds of folk here, they say, and he wants to give them something different.’

‘What have you heard?’

‘Only what you hear when you’re wandering after dark…’

‘Which is?’ Elijah was beginning to feel irritable now and frayed.

‘Oh, spectaculars, you know spirits and whatnot, like the halls are showing down in London town.' Ruby snagged the thread free and snapped it with her teeth. 

‘What have I got to do with it?’ Elijah screwed up his nose.

‘Maybe he thinks you’re not earning your keep these days…maybe the mystery’s wearing a bit thin.’ Ruby stood up and brushed the dust from her legs. ‘You can’t trick folk forever, eventually they’ll see they’re looking at nothing but a rough little bounder from the workhouse. It’s a shame, Lijah, there’s really nothing about you, not like Brutus and Leonie and me, well, they’ll always want to look at a pretty girl in trousers. But you, you’re just his dream, that’s all…you don’t want to mess with that.’

Elijah felt a creeping coldness steal over his body and it wasn’t just the effects of the drug. Maybe she was right, maybe he was destroying the only thing he had; his own illusion, and Darke’s obsession with it.

‘How much of what you tell us is the truth?’ Ruby murmured. ‘And how much of it is lies?’ 

‘Ruby?’ 

‘I know you, Lijah, you see, I’m the only one that does…you should keep your friends close.’

‘You’re my friend.’ Elijah said ambiguously.

‘Course I am!’ Ruby replied, brightly. ‘Look sharp – here he comes.’

Hurrying back to Elijah, Ruby bent to straighten his clothes and thrust the tight boots back onto his feet. Wincing with pain as the laces bit, Elijah held his breath and counted the neat tap of heeled boots. 

Even now, even after all these years, Elijah still tensed when he heard those distinctive footsteps and with them, the chatter of sharp little teeth and claws. He pulled himself together quickly; straightening his clothes and re-lacing his boots. He was tired of this, so tired. His fingers wearied over the buttons on his tunic and as the misery began to swell, a sudden memory rose, just for a moment, of gentle hands caressing, strange and wonderful. It felt as if it belonged to a dream, already old and creased with use and tainted by his own loathing, but always, whenever he thought of it, a warmth filled him, as if he had drunk a bottle of red wine and it brought him strange comfort.

~ ~ ~

The house was quiet as Sean stepped into the hall, his footsteps dogged at every step by the whistling young man at his heels. Fortunately, they had met no one along the way and as it was now early in the morning, all the cottages along the main street were shuttered and dark. But there was a light burning in the front parlour of the long, white cottage, and a shadow at the window, moving restlessly.

Sean heard a light tread on the tiles of the front passage and before he could call a warning, Catherine appeared under the archway, at the entrance to the hall, looking shocked and pale, her fair, slippery hair tumbling from its pins. Her mouth opened, as if with a shock of words she could not voice. 

‘Do not be alarmed, Catherine, please, go back and wait for me in the parlour,’ Sean instructed firmly, surprised by his own calmness.

Behind him, the fair haired man clicked the bolt into place. 

Catherine did not move, but stood as if frozen, her lips parted and her long, slim fingers threaded tight, staring through Sean as if he was a ghost. 

‘Why have you come?’ She spoke softly, her voice little more than a whisper.

‘Aren’t you pleased to see me, Cathy?’ 

Appalled by the casual familiarity in the man’s voice, Sean stepped back, looking from one to the other, as if was watching a play being acted out upon a stage. 

Shaking her head as if in bewilderment, Catherine stared at the young man with unblinking eyes, ‘I have nothing more to give,’ she said, ‘You know that.’

The man only smiled, leaning against the coat rack, looking hard at Catherine, something indefinable in his eyes, that was almost regret. ‘I was worried about you, I heard tell you’ve let the staff go – Mrs Briar was in the Post Office, weeping, and that girl Lucy, she’s only been here a month or two, she’s got a mother to support and all those little ones.’

Catherine’s mouth tightened. ‘I had no choice.’

‘People are talking about you, Catherine,’ he said, almost tenderly.

Catherine’s fingers tightened, her knuckles showing white. 

‘Of course, it’s only talk…’ Righting himself, the man stepped further into the hall, his demeanour snapping back once more into its former threatening stance; as if he had shook off all the loose threads of sentimentality which might have still clung to him. 

‘What are they saying?’ Sean asked, the need to know more driving him on, despite his fears. 

‘That your sister is losing her mind, there’s been talk of calling for Doctor Hayes. She’s been losing things lately, you see, things have been going missing from the house, some of them treasures her late husband bought as gifts from overseas…careless to mislay things like that.’ 

Catherine drew her hand up to her mouth, staggering a little on her feet, as if she was about to faint. Seeing her swoon, Sean hurried quickly to her side to take her arm. Leaning heavily, Catherine turned her face into her brother’s shoulder and closed her eyes.

‘Aren’t you going to ask your brother where he’s been, out walking so late?’ The man continued arrogant and louche as he leaned, one ankle crossed over the other. 

Sean felt his whole body tense. ‘What will it take for you to leave this house?’ 

The man sighed, twisting his soft hat between his hands, when he spoke it was little more than a mutter. ‘It’s the Wakes tomorrow night and I have an appointment to keep, unfortunately, I am a little less heavy in the pocket than I ought to be and no matter how I have begged Catherine for assistance in this matter, sadly she seems unable to provide, so I am asking you, sir, for your aid. Two hundred pounds should cover it.’ 

‘What is there to stop me going to the constable's house?’ 

The man raised a brow and drew out the blade, ‘This? And what I know about you and your sister, enough for that black trap to come rattling down the road. I’m on good terms with Doctor Hayes, he’s a friend of mine too. It wouldn’t take much, just a signature on a page.’

A chill rippled down Sean’s spine. ‘I have no money on me now, it isn’t that easy, I shall have to go into town.’

‘Tomorrow night then. They’re having a grand show down at the fairground, the last before they pack up and leave, they say all the freaks will be out and the whole village attending. I’ll come here at nine o’clock, there won’t be any folk about, they’ll all be down there, waiting for the entertainments to start. I’ll accept your final payment and there won’t be any need for further amusements to be offered up, if you understand me.’

Sean’s mind reeled with anger, throwing itself against brick walls as he tried to find a solution, but shock and exhaustion had finally overwhelmed him and he could only stand and stare as the young man donned his hat and set his hand upon the bolt. 

‘I’ll bid you goodnight then,’ he said, opening wide the door. ‘Night Cathy,’ he added, nodding his head in her direction before melting away into the dark, closing the door softly behind and singing,

_His movements are graceful; all girls he does please,  
and my love he has purloined away._

~ ~ ~

‘Another fine performance.’

Pulling the curtain closed behind his back, Darke ushered Ruby out of the booth with a humourless smile. 

‘You bewitched a few more men today, no doubt.’ Darke’s voice had a blade-like edge, although his expression was soft as he tickled beneath the chin of his tamarind monkey, making it bare its exquisite teeth in a grin. ‘What say you, Isaiah?’

The monkey slipped around the back of his master’s neck, approaching Elijah warily.

‘Say hello then, my friend.’

Feelings its way carefully along Darke’s arm, the creature reached out a spidery hand, leathered as a glove, and beseeched Elijah for attention. When he didn’t respond, the monkey keened in a short shriek. 

‘You insult us both, Elijah,’ Darke took Isaiah back into his hand, stroking him with long fingers while his eyes roved thoughtfully across the boy’s passive face. ‘So solemn tonight…why is that?’ 

Flicking the animal from his hands in sudden irritation, the monkey leapt down and scurried away into a corner, where it sat hunched, nibbling on its arm.

Darke moved so close, he forced the boy to meet his gaze. ‘What’s wearying you tonight, hmm?’ 

‘Nothing,’ Elijah muttered.

Darke looked about, searching beneath the heavy covers of the chaise longue, and drawing out the small bottle. 

Elijah shook his head. 

‘No?’ Darke opened the bottle and held it out. ‘I need you to be alert, Elijah, you have work to do.’

‘I am,’ Elijah said, shaking the hair from his eyes as he attempted to rouse himself, determined not to take any more of the bitterness, sick of the swooning and the sleep that inevitably resulted.

‘You look pale,’ Darke replied coldly. ‘And there’s more of the Gorgon in you than usual. I’m not sure if I can bear to look on you myself - you look as if you could petrify me in an instant. What is it? Aren’t you sleeping?’

‘Yes,’ Elijah replied. ‘I sleep too much.’

‘And yet your lights are burning late.’ Darke swung on his heels. ‘Have you taken to reading in bed?’

‘You know I can’t read,’ Elijah replied, keeping his chin erect, whilst sitting on his trembling hands. 

‘Ah yes,’ Darke smiled. ‘But you know the psalms by heart.’

‘I was scared of the dark.’

Kneeling down, Darke spoke softly once again, ‘Then you must sleep in the wagons with me and I will light a candle beside your bed and you will be safe. No rough men outside, no _intruders_ , nothing to fear…’ Darke’s fingers were inches from Elijah’s face and there they hovered, unable to touch. 

Elijah remained impassive, his heart was pounding, but he wouldn’t let Darke know it. Instead, he met his gaze with hard blue eyes, like cold gemstones and watched as his hand snapped back, as if burned.

‘Come then, Elijah,’ Darke jumped to his feet. Jerking his head in signal, the monkey responded at once, darting across the floor and up his master’s arm. ‘If you are not sleepy, then we have work to do.’

~ ~ ~

‘What do you think?’

Elijah looked up into the dizzying expanse of white above his head and strung across it, the thinnest, most precarious wire he had ever seen. 

‘It’s very high,’ Elijah said, gazing upwards, his head swimming.

‘Of course you will be quite safe. Do you know there is a man, a Frenchman, who can fly from one swing to another in mid-air? It is pure magic.’ 

‘A trapeze?’ Elijah swallowed, already sensing the ground softening and diminishing under his feet; the worst thing in the world. 

‘Oh no, no…just the wire. You will appear to hover for an instant, that is all, very simple really, but it will require practise and time is ticking.’ 

Elijah felt cold sweat prickle his palms, but his jaw grew tight with resolution, he would not show Darke his fear. He would fight him at every step, allow no chink of weakness, he would not be beaten. 

‘I have a fancy to try for something spectacular. These old shows are all well and good but there are concert halls in the cities bursting with people. There is a _thirst_ , Elijah, for supernatural visitations, ghost shows and suchlike. There is a desire to see the impossible made flesh. People thrill to it. We will make our fortunes, you and I. You just need to listen and learn. You and I up there, in the very wings of the air, working as one.’

‘Here, let me show you…’ Darke led Elijah to where a ladder leaned against a wooden platform onto which the high wires were fastened. 

‘See? We have made you a cradle should you fall. Up, up you go.’ 

Elijah caught a crooked glimpse of the mesh strung taut like a giant spider’s web, but he could barely hear Darke’s soft instructions beneath the rushing in his head as he began to climb, his limbs light and trembling with each step. He could feel the hot hiss of Darke’s breath against the back of his neck, but was unable to formulate an explanation in his mind. 

Instead, he clutched at fragments; a nursery rhyme, something about cats and dogs, and the words ran over and over in a crazed lullaby, deafening him to all else. The world became soft and malleable as the rungs melted beneath his hands and feet. 

‘Step out,’ Darke whispered. ‘I have seen how you can control yourself, all you need to do is step out and hold your breath. Step out, Elijah, step out…’

Closing his eyes, Elijah took one small step out into utter darkness, and felt a vortex of air rushing around him as if it could pull him down into its arms. Reaching out blindly, to stop himself from being sucked in, he panicked, grabbing with clutching, desperate fingers. His courage had failed him, and the failure felt as bitter as the aftertaste of the drops at the back of his throat. 

‘Go on, step out.’ Darke pressed his face close against Elijah’s cheek, his words stinging his ear as he swayed on the edge of the platform, his lips just grazing Elijah’s cheek. 

Lurching away, Elijah took an unsteady step out into the air, his hands still full of the black coat, tearing at the fabric as he swayed. The words of the nursery rhyme roared in his head as blind fear overwhelmed him and as he cried out, the air opened its jaws.

~ ~ ~

Weeping uncontrollably, Elijah was barely conscious of anything but relief that he was no longer facing the wire. By the time he began to rouse, he was wracked with paroxysms of shivering, his teeth chattering raucously in his head, and with no idea of where he was or how he had arrived there. There was a thick warm woollen blanket covering his body and a soft pillow lay beneath his head. The air was hot and smelt sweetly of apples and cinnamon and wine.

Raising himself up onto his elbows, Elijah looked about him blearily, wondering if he was still half-dreaming. The narrow room was well furnished with mirrors and paintings and crystal glasses arranged neatly in glass fronted cabinets, winking in the firelight, and the curved ceiling was decorated with a gilded design of roses and leaves. There were many lamps lit and mounted on the walls and a warm stove stood against one wall, seated in an elaborately enamelled hearth. 

Collapsing once more onto his back into the soft white feather mattress, Elijah looked up and above the bed, saw blue birds circling with golden ribbons in their beaks, flying together to form a heart.

‘Here you are.’

Elijah turned his head. Darke was sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling, a full glass in one hand, sparkling dizzily in the fractured light. 

‘At last.’


	9. Chapter 9

The parlour was chill, for no one had lit the fire. The oil lamp hissing on the table, its untrimmed wick filling the glass with darkness, provided the only warmth.

Catherine stood close to the table, looking down into the lamp, as if seeking sense in the thin, writhing flame. 

Standing in the shadows, Sean looked at his sister as if she were a stranger. ‘Who was that man?’

‘Why do you question me?’ Catherine replied softly.

‘Why?’ Sean exclaimed. ‘Because he accosts me on the road, blackmails me for money, threatens me with a knife and tells me such terrible lies about you, I can hardly bear to repeat them!’

‘Why?’ Catherine said, strangely calm. ‘Why is that?’

‘Tell me his name.’

‘Sean, it is not your place to demand such explanations…’

‘Isn’t it?’ Sean felt baffled and enraged, and more than a little frightened; wounded in more ways than one by the bruisings of this long and strange night. Walking up to his sister, he laid a hand on her shoulder and turned her towards him. Her body slipped around, but her head was still bowed, her eyes unfocused, as though she was sleepwalking. 

‘What has happened to you?’ Sean murmured, holding her gently. ‘I barely recognise you.’

Catherine laughed beneath her breath, a small gasping sound. ‘And you, brother? What’s that madness in your eyes?’ 

Sean felt a jolt of flame blaze through him, as if a ghost of his former delight had visited him there. 

Stepping out of his embrace, Catherine moved around the table and looked at him over the smoking lamp, their hands spread on the table top as though they were attending a séance. When at last she spoke, her voice was calm and gathered. 

‘I asked you here to help you, Sean. You were lost in London - keeping odd hours, and inviting strangers into the house - one woman, a known medium! Can you imagine how worried I was, receiving your letters one by one, rambling and blasphemous; you who I have always leaned upon after mother and father died, you who would accompany me to church every Sunday and speak the words without the aid of the book, for you knew them in your heart. To see you brought so low and turning to such strange, unnatural things for comfort and resource – I could hardly bear to touch them. Once read, I burned them for fear of what others would think of you should they find them. I felt so afraid, and so alone without Henry, I had no one to speak to of this, no one on whom I could depend. I began to wonder if London might be to blame, I thought that if I pulled you out of that place I might bring you back to your senses, but it seems you have only fallen deeper…’ 

Suddenly weary, Catherine collapsed once more into silence.

‘Catherine,’ Sean replied, his voice unsteady, ‘I am not ill, I am only looking for answers, new ways of thinking, of believing, it isn’t blasphemy, merely another way, that is all. The spirits have a lot to teach us, and their words were comforting to me when my faith faltered. There are many learned men in London, good, wise men, who attend seances on a regular basis and employ the services of mediums. There is no shame in it.’

Catherine shook her head. ‘It is dark magic, Sean and not to be trifled with.’

‘No, no it isn’t like that, not at all,’ Sean argued, feeling his body begin to tense with the effort of holding onto his reasoning. ‘You don’t understand it, that is all, I have some pamphlets, some texts, if only you would read them…’

‘Sean,’ the word was almost a sigh. ‘You were walking in the fairground, in the dark. You were creeping about the tents like a thief and then slipped inside and were not seen until the morning.’

‘Who has told you this? _Him_ , that man?’ 

‘Mr Monaghan has seen you with his own eyes.’

‘And you trust what this man says, you believe his lies?’ Sean felt a lurch of horror at his own deception even as the false words passed his lips.

‘Don’t Sean, you are no better than him.’

‘How can you say that? How can you think such things of me?’ 

‘I don’t deny you were acting out of kindness, out of what you thought was good and charitable, but you are unable to see clearly anymore, your mind is confused…you are putting yourself at terrible risk. Those people are rough, and dangerous.’

‘Sometimes we must forget our own safety to help others, Catherine, where there is need. I have lived such a selfish life, I need to change that, I need act upon my feelings and live a richer life for it.’

‘And that is the privilege of men?’ Catherine snapped. 

‘Of course not,’ Sean replied, frowning at his sister’s sudden anger, waiting for further explanation of her meaning.

Sinking down into a chair, Catherine laced her fingers together and looked down at the webbed pattern they made across the black silk of her dress. 

‘This Mr Monaghan?’ Sean urged more gently. ‘Who is he?’

‘The blacksmith,’ Catherine replied, with a level voice that did not flinch. 

Sean remembered dirty hands and hot words thrown along the shadows of the tents; bargains and demands; dark stains on black silk.

‘He was good to me. When Henry died he came to the door and offered his help with any repairs that were necessary. I was grateful, there were many things I had noticed were growing tired and no longer working as they once did. Henry, you see, had been losing money before he died and the house had suffered for it. I was happy to have someone in the house, taking care of things, setting everything back into its proper place, functioning once more. He was always so respectful and polite and I was sorry to see him go when all the work was complete. I thought of him often and used to walk up the village street, on the pretext of calling on my neighbours, when in fact I was hoping only for a glimpse of him, working in his sheds. I would hear the striking of metal and my heart leaped to hear it, foolish though it sounds…’ 

‘You have no reason to think that,’ Sean reassured her, a dark feeling curling in the pit of his stomach as he waited for her to continue. 

‘Sometimes I would even go to him there, usually with some trifling thing that I required him to make and I would speak with him for as long as it was seemly before walking back home, light on my feet, the smell of fire and metal on my fingers. I could taste it.’

‘Oh Catherine, what have you done?’

‘It was like a dream at first. Slipping off quietly, breaking free from the house, corrupting the order, if only for an hour. He made me happy. I knew it was a terrible, terrible thing I was doing, but I seemed unable to stop. The pain of losing him was too great, greater even than the fear of discovery. Do you know, I almost wrote to you about it, hoping you might tell me to stop, prevent me doing any more harm? But when your letters changed, when you started to speak of ghosts, I could no longer be open with you, you seemed like a stranger - you made me afraid.’

‘I’m sorry, Catherine.’

‘Do you know I once saw a ghost? I saw our mother in the bedroom large as life and with such reproach in her eyes it chilled me to the bone. I closed my eyes and prayed for mercy and when I opened them, she was gone. How can you will such things to life, Sean? Surely it was enough to bear her coldness, her disapproval, in life? But to feel it _now?_ ’ Catherine shook her head. 

Sean shivered at Catherine’s words, feeling an echo in his own heart. ‘You loved this man?’

Catherine looked up, her face streaked with tears. ‘I love him, yes.’

‘ _Still?_ Even after tonight?’ Sean shook his head in disbelief. ‘The man’s a criminal, Cathy. He was taking your money.’

‘I know,’ Catherine murmured. ‘I have given him money when he asked for it. He has a compulsion, Sean, just like our father and Henry too, it seems. Sometimes he would come to me so desperate and afraid, I grew frantic for his safety and would give him whatever I could find. When the money began to run out, I turned to the gifts Henry had bought for me. I gave him everything, although it seems that wasn’t enough.’

‘You won’t have to give him one more thing, I shall see to that,’ Sean resolved. ‘Then you shall not have to bear his company again.’

Catherine shuddered. ‘How can I not bear it? How can I live out day after day without the hope of seeing him again? The silence and the plainness of it all – it makes me mad! He has kept away for a month, ever since you came here, Sean he has kept away, although he has been watching, and I have walked out in hope of seeing him and rekindling some hope of his affections, but there has been nothing. When he spoke to me, it was as if we were strangers to one another!’ 

‘Is this since the money ran out?’

‘Yes,’ Catherine sighed. ‘Yes, it is, and that proves his deception, don’t think I see that, Sean… and yet I remember how we could comfort one another.’

Sean turned away.

‘I know you don’t want me to speak of it and yet I have no one else to tell, and do not try to deny that you too have never felt an unbidden passion for someone who is out of your reach?’

Sean felt a surge of recognition so strong his heart seemed to stutter and his head swam. 

Catherine looked up, her face anguished. ‘I can’t ask you to pay this debt, it is a debt of my own creating. What he has done to you appals me, but I am not afraid of him.’

‘I won’t leave you to face him alone, Catherine, it is too dangerous.’

‘You warn me of danger and yet you spend nights in a fairground tent?’ Catherine exclaimed. ‘I don’t know why you were there, but whatever he has seen is enough to destroy us both, thank God the fair moves on!’

Sean felt a rising panic as he remembered Monaghan’s words. The fair was moving on and Elijah with it, and yet his sister’s need was just as great and he could not desert her. 

‘You spoke to me once of leaving?’ Sean recalled, trying to calm himself enough to allow the cogs and wheels of his mind to turn. 

Catherine shook her head. ‘How can I leave? I have nowhere else to go.’

‘ I could arrange a carriage, provide you with what money I have.’

‘Sean...’ Catherine interrupted.

‘I shall go into town tomorrow and arrange everything. We can shut up this house, and in a week, the London house too, leave no trace…’

‘Sean!’ 

Sean stopped abruptly at the sharpness in her voice. 

‘Sean, you have a life in London, many businesses to run, all those factories…and one day you will want to bring home a wife. If I came with you, if you threw everything away for my sake, you would have nothing left…’

‘Perhaps that is what I need?’ Sean replied. ‘To wipe it all clean and start again. I don’t want to go back to that old life, Catherine, it has brought me nothing but grief.’

‘All those years you spent working, Sean, building great things, giving people useful employment, you were so proud! What happened?’ 

‘I saw sense,’ Sean whispered. ‘I should have seen it before.’

~ ~ ~

For a moment Elijah wondered if he was dreaming, or else dead and gone to hell, his head swimming with the fumes of smoke and wine. It was very hot in the narrow space and the bed was choked with suffocating pillows and draperies. Darke leaned close, his breath wickedly hot against Elijah’s cheek as he cupped his chin with awkward gentleness and stroked his mouth over and over with his thumb. The caress blundered against Elijah’s mouth, causing his lips to part, as Darke crept closer across the bed.

Elijah, breathless with panic and disgust, shifted away until he was sitting upright, his back pressed hard against the curving sides of the panelled wall. Love birds flew in   
and out of his vision. He wanted to run and yet seemed frozen to the spot, feeling every touch as a burning cold brand across his skin. 

Darke was smiling strangely to himself as he rippled his fingertips over Elijah’s   
arching throat as if he were playing a flute. ‘You don’t know how long I have waited for this…’ he breathed. ‘You are perfection, even this close, in this light. You see I have lit all the lamps to see you the better? I don’t want to miss a thing. I want to see every little flicker in your eyes as I touch you, rouse you, make you scream...’

Elijah swallowed, closing his eyes and willing himself not to cry, but to retreat, to slip his skin and fly, biting lose the threads that tethered him to the moment and find release. It was a gift. Even in the school room, in the long, grey hall, reciting old, dead texts under the teacher’s cold eye, he could rise and rise; soaring high over the bell tower and the workhouse gate, into the smog of the city and the rising stench of Thames and out, away with the black barges, down the estuary and over the rolling waves. He saw ancient cities, white bridges that hung in the air as if they had wings. Angels bursting from the walls, flowers from paradise. 

Darke was still talking, muttering to himself as he slid one button free. ‘I could see how special you were, even there in that stinking place, like a diamond lying in the dirt. I picked you up and brushed the filth off you and took you into my family and well you have rewarded me. You have been a diligent pupil, Elijah, and it has been my pleasure to see you mature into such a marvellous creature, so cold and lifeless, you are almost stone! It makes me feel like the sculptor willing life to his own creation. I made you, Elijah, you were nothing when I found you, your own mother was afraid of you, all too willing to give you away, she passed you into my hands with gratitude and she was right to do so, for there is no safer place for you, my little Gorgon, here you are nurtured, protected, beloved…treasured.’ Darke bent and pressed a cold, damp kiss against Elijah’s exposed flesh at the base of his throat and Elijah shivered. ‘I feel you tremble! So there is life in you after all?’ 

Still and silent as a ghost, Elijah’s soul drifted far over the wide, dark fields. 

Darke raised his head, regarding him with slight bemusement, his head cocked like a black crow. ‘Do you like me to touch you, Elijah?’ 

The words brought Elijah back to himself as suddenly as if someone had shot him out of the sky and he flinched at the icy shock of it. His eyes widening, he remained stubbornly silent, staring coldly at Darke, his muscles heavy as lead and just as unwilling. Even his lips, under Darke’s hard, forceful mouth, remained as blunt and lifeless as rubbed cloth. 

Laughing uncomfortably, Darke sat back and took up his glass of dark red wine, watching Elijah over the rim of his glass as he sipped. 

‘You are playing a game with me, Elijah,’ Darke said. 

Elijah’s heart began to pound as he willed himself once more away, tugging at his soul to flee even as it plummeted into his feet. 

‘I know you are not the innocent creature you appear – you can’t fool me with this act,’ he spat. ‘You forget, I taught you all you know! And you owe me, Elijah. Your pretty face would be broken by now if I hadn’t taken you away. If anyone has the right to touch you, it is I. Your mother signed the papers, you’re my property now and if anyone touches you, it shall be me. Oh yes, Elijah, I have seen the games you have been playing in the tent, telling fortunes, little whore. I would have wrung his neck, I was on the edge of madness, believe me. Only I couldn’t help but watch… you see it excited me, despite my jealousies, and you knew that, for it was all an act for my benefit, wasn’t it? To make me envious, to make me hard?’ Pressing Elijah’s palm against his swollen groin, he pressed his mouth close to Elijah’s ear. ‘Just as this is an act…isn’t it? You think this is the way I want you, you’re a good boy, Elijah, a beautiful boy…’

Darke crept forwards, leaning in once more to kiss and run a hand along Elijah’s chest, tugging free more buttons, urgently caressing, as though through the force of touch he may stir some response. His tall, dark bulk pressed over him, the heavy, cloying smell of smoke and alcohol on his breath, choking him. 

‘Christ Almighty, Elijah!’ Darke raged, pulling back. ‘You’re as cold as a malicious snake. Speak to me, damn you!’

Elijah held himself stiller yet, willing himself to believe in his own illusion, drawing on every trick in the book to stop himself from bolting from the bed, gritting his teeth against the prickling heat of Darke’s long, raking fingers on his skin. 

‘Perhaps a drink would do you good, or a little something else, hmm?’ 

Rising to his feet, Darke turned to a glass fronted cabinet on the wall behind him and drawing out a key from his pocket, turned it in the lock and withdrew a small blue bottle and a glass. Pouring into it, the dark wine, he added four drops of the liquid in the bottle. Returning to the bedside, Darke pressed the glass to Elijah’s lips. 

‘You have had a hard night, Elijah. Drink, it will help.’

Knowing that the drugged wine would make his concentration flounder all the more, Elijah pushed the glass away, spilling the contents over the bedclothes. 

‘Clumsy boy!’ Darke admonished, picking up the empty glass. ‘Shall I pour you another?’

Elijah shook his head, his eyes defiant, but his poise beginning to slip.

‘I see a little of your old fire, Elijah,’ Darke grinned. ‘You are coming back to yourself.’

Elijah pulled his knees up to his chest and concentrated on breathing steadily in and out, the fumes of the wine-soaked sheets clouding his head, making him sick. He suddenly felt very young and very afraid, his heart lurching towards the evening that had passed, remembering gentle words and soft hazel eyes that had no hardness in them, but only love. _Love?_ He almost laughed at himself for his sentimentality, and yet, he ached for the stranger now, a feeling so strong it seemed to grow tendrils and stretch out into the sky, reaching blindly. 

He had to get out. 

‘You can’t touch me,’ Elijah said, his eyes flashing blue fire.

‘I am touching you,’ Darke murmured, rubbing his hands over Elijah’s knees, trying to part them. ‘See?’

‘No,’ Elijah smiled coldly, holding Darke in a clear, fierce gaze. ‘No, you can’t.’

‘Why are you talking in riddles?’ Darke snapped and then he sneered horribly, his eyes like grey glinting stones. ‘Do you want me to gag you? Or should I fill your mouth in other ways?’ 

‘You would make a whore of me,’ Elijah said. ‘Is that how you want me? I thought you had dragged me _out_ of the dirt.’

Darke’s fingers dug into the soft skin of Elijah’s thigh, pressing hard against the soft linen of his pale tunic. 

‘I thought I was a precious jewel?’ Elijah continued bitterly.

Darke breathed heavily, staring into Elijah’s blazing eyes with growing apprehension, trying not to blink, and yet unable to bear it, grimacing at the sting, shaking it from his head. 

‘If you do this, you will lose me forever.’ Elijah watched Darke as he fumbled for his wine. 

‘You think you are clever.’ Darke took a long swallow and then laughed sharply, rising to his feet. ‘You think you are special. So special, I cannot lay a finger on you…why is that, I wonder? Why is Elijah so special?’

Darke was pacing now, leaning against the mantelpiece, and jabbing a poker into the blazing fire with sharp, brutal thrusts, shaking out the sparks. The wood wailed and drifts of flame whirled up the chimney. Elijah felt the heat of it on his skin as he slipped off the edge of the bed and crept along the wall.

‘Now let me think…’ Darke continued. ‘Here – the marvellous boy, like an angel he is made of snow and cannot bear the touch of sunlight on his skin. Why do you think I keep you in the dark?’ 

Elijah hovered, three strides away from the door, waiting for his chance. 

Darke turned round and gave Elijah a cruel smile, ‘Because you will wither in the light. Your mother told me so, she begged me to keep you safe. I have protected you, without me you will not last. You will crumble away like a rose in winter. You need me, Elijah and you will come.’ 

Feeling the words crawling like ants over his skin, Elijah walked to the door and, with trembling fingers, drew back the bolt and tumbled out into the dark heart of the night, Darke’s eyes boring into his back. 

‘Tomorrow, Elijah, tomorrow you will walk the wire and you will not let me down! I was inclined to be lenient, but no longer. Goodnight, my door will remain unlocked.’

The words chased Elijah over the soft, sinking grass, his legs weak, melting like butter beneath him as emotion caught up with him at last. Soon his face was wet with tears and his breaths were coming in short gasps. 

It felt frightening to be outside in the darkness, running alone under the vastness of the sky, but also exhilarating. It had been years since he had tasted the night air in his lungs, and even then it would be tainted with fumes and the stench of the river. Usually Brutus or Ruby would keep guard and warn him not to venture out for fear of bad men, but tonight he had no such cares. Racing now, his legs pounding, his tunic half open and sliding from his shoulders, he entered the tunnel of trees and felt the air rushing through it, like cool clear water. Reaching the standing stone at the edge of the village, he flew up against it, holding on as if the air might sweep him away, dizzy with sensation and the thrill of escape, of triumph and relief. Flinging himself down on the hard, stony ground he looked up into the limitless heavens and considered the possibility of love. Could it be possible to be touched with a soft desire that had no other motive but to give pleasure? He recalled the places where Darke had put his hands and mouth and wondered how it might be if another, gentler lover moved sweetly upon him and the thought of it made him moan. It was too much. The sky seemed to implode upon itself and for a moment, Elijah was falling upwards, tipping himself like upturned teacup into the sky, spilling his thoughts onto the ground, like scattered tea leaves. 

_No more of this…_

Elijah thought dreamily as he fell back to earth, aching and alone. 

_I need him._

The thought was sudden and stark. Elijah shivered. 

_I have to trust him._


	10. Chapter 10

The dawn wasn’t far away, already pink-edged cloud lightened the far horizon, and an early mist shrouded the trees in a shawl of white lace. Sean sat at his bedroom window looking out and wondering what this new day would bring, terrible or wonderful, but surely some unimaginable change. Texts lay at his feet, well-thumbed and curling, their words no longer carrying any weight or purpose and when he closed his eyes to seek the spirits for help, he was afraid of their stern voices, of their disapproval and whisperings of sin. This would be the last time he would look out over these blank fields with their sentinels of trees, grown familiar now, and beautiful in their starkness and he was sorry to let them go. The busy streets of the city held little attraction now, just an impression of sulphur and smoke, like the clouded air after fireworks have faded. All his hope, all his thoughts turned now to one bright star lying sealed in darkness.

As he waited for the new day to begin, having long given up on sleep, he listened to the murmurings of the house as it moved and creaked in its habitual way; the clock ticking with its sombre heartbeat, and the mice knawing and scraping under the floors, as if they imagined this house would go on forever repeating its routines, one day passing into the next, sleepy and oblivious. 

If only they knew! Sean was a different man, and so were those people he had called family and friends, everyone and everything had changed, as swiftly and shockingly as those transforming pictures in children’s nursery books; the princess subtly sliding into the witch. 

Countless times, Sean had relived the moment of intimacy in the darkened tent. And as he recalled the fluttering of Elijah’s breath across his mouth, the grip of his hands, the sweet stab of his tongue, his hopes rose with the pounding of his blood, and he believed in that instant that Elijah had seen the glimmer of Sean’s heart and reached out for it. And yet it had all ended, so coldly, so abruptly; and this caused Sean’s hopes to plummet as quickly as they had risen. He had been clumsy and rash, he had frightened Elijah, driven him away with his impulsiveness, and he wished more than anything that he might rush down to the fairground now, seek him out and beg his forgiveness, persuade him to run away, promise never to touch him again, if that would make him happy. But Sean knew that this would be a hopeless errand; the terrible possibility materialising in his mind that it was entirely probable that he might never see Elijah again. Misery curled in his stomach, turning the world cold and sour and all hopes of escaping the danger that was before them, suddenly seemed doomed to fail. Feeling hopeless, Sean sank his head into his hands and hid the world from sight. 

A shower of hail lashed against the window. Sean paid it no heed at first, so sunk was he in his own despair that for a moment, he had forgotten the calm summer morning that was just beginning, far off in the east. When the sound came again, sharper and clearer, a handful of gritty stone, Sean started in surprise and, looking down into the garden, noticed a slight figure standing in the grey half-light, glimmering pale against the high evergreen hedge. At first he thought it was an angel, and his heart froze between beats. 

‘Sean!’

Sean heard his name on the air, and the boy’s voice that carried it and in half a minute, Sean was running down the stairs, out of the house and into the garden. The air was cool so early, barely four o’clock in the morning, and the grass swishing beneath his feet was soaked with dew. In the hedge, little scraps of cobweb fluttered, heavy with pearls. Elijah shivered in his thin ivory tunic, unbuttoned, and grass stained, and as Sean approached, he clasped his arms around his own chest, as if in protection. 

Without a thought, Sean tore off his jacket and put it about Elijah’s shoulders. 

‘I am so glad you came,’ Sean said earnestly, breathlessly, holding the jacket tightly around Elijah’s shoulders, his hands resting there, as if by touch alone he could keep him from running, afraid that every word he spoke might shatter him to pieces. ‘How did you know where to find me?’

‘Ruby mentioned the place,’ Elijah replied, looking up into Sean’s face. ‘She said it was the white house with the high hedge. I remembered. Will you come for a walk with me?’

Sean nodded, and without hesitation, Elijah began to walk briskly down the street, heading off down a narrow lane and through a gap in the hedge into a black field full of poppies and ripening wheat. The feel of their petals against Sean’s outstretched hand was like silk and the corn sighed like the sea parting around their legs. Half way down the field, Elijah held out his hand, and Sean slipped it into his own warm fist, tangling their fingers together. For a long time they didn’t speak, only walked into the rising sun, the mist dancing over the distant hills, twisting and shredding like ribbons on a maypole, as their fingers stroked and squeezed. Eventually, as they came to the brow of a small hill, Elijah seemed to weary, slowing to a walk, and then without warning, sank down into the grass at the edge of the hill, tugging Sean down beside him, all the world rolling away at their feet; a basin of white, crowned by the tops of pine trees.

Their fingers were still interlaced, Sean could feel Elijah’s small, elegant fingers curled like a flower in his palm. 

‘What a peaceful spot,’ Sean said, wanting to fill the weighted silence with words. 

Elijah lay back in the grass, the coat outspread beneath him as he looked up into the changing sky. ‘Is this the dawn?’ 

Sean looked at him in surprise. ‘I don’t know the hour, but I believe it must be.’

‘Do you know I’ve never seen it?’ Elijah sighed. ‘Not like this. It looks like a painting.’

‘Yes, it does,’ Sean agreed, looking up at the shifting colours in the cloud. 

‘I wish I could fly through it like those birds, look at them, so free,’ Elijah said, watching a flock of starlings circling overhead. ‘Why don’t they worry about falling out of the sky?’

‘They know they are safe, they have no reason to be afraid,’ Sean replied, looking down at the boy as he trailed the birds with his eyes longingly. 

‘How do they know the air will hold them?’

‘I don’t know,’ Sean said, ‘They must have faith.’

‘Do you have faith?’ Elijah said, his eyes far away, parting the cloud.

Sean didn’t know how to respond, his first instinct was to reply with an affirmative, and yet, of late he had begun to question so many things. ‘I have hope,’ he replied. 

‘When we were in the workhouse we were told to have faith, they beat it into us, made us grateful for what we had. Once a white bird came into the school room and it was in a panic, flying up to the roof and throwing itself against the windows trying to get out but it couldn’t – it couldn’t get out no matter how hard it tried. I felt like that, like I was trapped inside those four grey walls forever. When I left that place for work, those walls would be replaced by others just the same. There was no escape. And they told us to have faith, that the Lord would provide. I would speak the words in the prayer books, but in my heart I was throwing myself against those windows like that white bird.’ Elijah paused, ‘I thought it was a dove, but someone said it was just a pigeon. They’re not all grey,’ he smiled. 

Sean smiled warmly, his fingers still stroking gently Elijah’s open palm. ‘I used to watch those birds, they used to roost on the roof and sometimes I could hear them when I was in bed, calling down the chimney.’

‘My mum used to call them pests, rats of the air, she said, but I liked them.’

Sean laughed, lying down beside Elijah, keeping a small distance apart. 

‘I hope you don’t mind me getting this all mucked up?’ Elijah asked, glancing at the coat outspread beneath them. 

‘No, it doesn’t matter…’ Sean said, ‘Nothing matters.’

‘Doesn’t it?’ Elijah questioned, still staring at the sky. ‘I thought everything mattered to you… even me,’ he added. ‘Lord knows why.’

Sean slid a shy glance at Elijah, noticing how a slight blush had coloured his cheeks, even though his words were uttered carelessly. ‘You’re right, everything seemed important, I took my responsibilities so seriously they weighed me down. My life in the city, the businesses, my club, the talks I attended, the friends I dined with. It all mattered too much. I thought I was living a full life, Elijah, a life any man would aspire to, the life my parents planned out for me, but then… it all changed, I saw it for what it was and it was nothing, just man’s pride and avarice and selfish greed and I turned away, looking for answers, an emptiness inside that needed to be filled.’

‘Did you find the answers?’ Elijah asked, looking with empathy into Sean’s eyes, as his fingers tightened involuntarily around Elijah’s. 

‘I thought I had,’ Sean said, ‘I was certain of it, but now I see that I was mistaken.’

Elijah shifted, propping himself up on his elbow to look down at Sean. ‘Do you know, I see lots of men and women in my work, so many they pass by in a blur, but it wasn’t like that with you, when I looked at you I saw you, I mean I _saw_ you clearly and all around your back was a cluster of shadows.’

Sean felt a cold shiver pass through him despite the warmth of the summer night. ‘You saw them?’

‘Yes, I see things that others don’t, that’s part of my gift. Why do you carry them around with you, Sean? All those shadows?’ 

At Elijah’s words, Sean felt a curious sensation as if a heavy cloak had been shrugged off his shoulders. ‘I don’t know…’ he stammered. ‘I thought I needed them.’

‘They’re your past, aren’t they?’ Elijah murmured, stroking Sean’s hand now with the flat of his thumb, making small flames lick up inside him.

Sean didn’t know what to say, but fell dumb, the sensations making him dizzy. Elijah paused, frowning, ‘Am not scaring you am I?’ he said. 

Sean shook his head fervently, ‘No, not at all, it’s remarkable, wonderful.’

Elijah looked solemn. ‘I used to scare them.’

‘Who?’

‘The children in the workhouse.’

Sean swallowed, conjuring up a memory of the gloomy grey building he used to walk past on his way to the club, the gates locked, curling and austere, hating to think of him there. ‘Tell me,’ he urged.

As Elijah began to speak, his voice was soft and measured, almost expressionless, like a child reciting by rote. ‘I could see into their heads and further off, what they were, where they were going, all the little spirits clustering at their heels. At meals, ma would come to me, when it was allowed and she would tell me to do it, get me telling fortunes or playing the cards and sometimes she would get little bits off the other women there, scraps of lace, tobacco or slivers of toffee. They all wanted to hear some glimmer of hope, you see, and even if all I saw was dirt and ashes, I made up something nice – a marriage, or easy work, an old lady’s will. If I was lucky I would get a bit of something. Ma said I was a marvel. I used to practise on the children when the women went to work, but it scared them so they wouldn’t want to sleep beside me at night for fear I would lay a curse on them, and one day the teacher found out what I’d been doing, saw the cards poking out of my sleeve. I was beaten so hard I couldn’t sit down for a week and then, after, when the tears were still dirtying my face, he made me stand on top of a ladder all day, looking up to heaven, through those filthy high windows, saying the Lords Prayer over and over until it made no sense at all. I stood up there so long I thought I would fall down and break my neck, the ladder was high and I never liked being up high, not since ma made me go up St Paul’s and dangled me over the edge to see. I was sick with it, felt like fainting, my legs nearly turned to water they were so weak, but I did it, I did it to spite them all. Still I suffered for it later. Cried myself to sleep that night, I could still feel the air sucking me down.’ Elijah fell silent, a dark cloud passing over his lovely pale face, blotting it out. 

‘It see it still pains you,’ Sean said, appalled by the sadness and the injustice. ‘How did you get out of that place?’

Elijah exhaled, a long, slow puff of air. ‘It was him.’

Sean knew at once to whom he was referring. ‘Darke?’

Seeming to flinch at the name, Elijah nodded. Softly, Sean curled Elijah’s hand under his own. ‘My ma used to tell me stories about running away with the fair. It sounded so exciting, the travelling, all those new places, she said I was gifted, that I could go go far. I always wanted to see further than London, sometimes it was hard to believe there was a world beyond the city – it seemed to go on forever. I don’t know who told him about me, perhaps one of the women who had gone met him somewhere on the road out of the city, or maybe he just came out of the smog, I don’t know. He said he was a doctor and the men let him in. I’d never seen anyone like him, the way he looked; I couldn’t stop staring. I think the men wanted me gone, because they let him take me into a room and question me about my malady. I didn’t want to talk to him, but he had a way of asking that couldn’t be refused and I was scared that if I didn’t they would put me on the ladder again. He said that I was special, that my mother was right, that he knew how to nurture my gifts and put them to good use, rather than allow them to fester in that place and turn to the bad. He talked to my ma. I asked her if she was coming too, but he said no, he would only take me alone, he had no place for her. She told me it was the best chance for me and to thank the gentleman for saving me and offering such care and attention. I had a notion of what he wanted me for and I was scared of him. He took me to a tall house in a narrow street, close by the Thames, I could smell the rank weed and the piss. He led me up a winding stair and unlocked a door at the top. There was a little bed and a window in the eaves, the walls were cold and damp and the sheets were stained. I wondered if this was any better than where I’d been. I sat on the bed and he knelt down before me and took my face in his huge hands and looked, really looked deep and I couldn’t look back because what I saw scared me too much. He said I had the face of an angel but the mouth of a whore and that I should learn to keep it closed and to open my eyes. He peeled my lashes back with his long fingers and pinned them up and made me stare until my eyes felt like they were on fire and then he smiled and said he was happy with me now, that I would learn to control myself and be a good boy. I was afraid he would want to share my bed, the way he was looking at me, but he left and locked the door behind him. I spent the worst night of my life in that little room and most of the following day. Then, when evening came, he bundled me into a coach and we drove for hours, meeting up with the fair just outside of Bristol. I’d never seen anything like it. All those wagons and tents and real live elephants, I was excited at first, until I saw how it would be.’

‘He kept you prisoner?’ 

‘For my own protection,’ Elijah smiled. ‘You see, I’m special, my ma told him so, she told him many things about me, so many things he had to have me and probably paid her richly for it. He thinks someone will steal me away, or else I will wander out under the light of day and shrivel up like a wizened apple.’

Sean was puzzled. ‘Elijah, is this true?’ 

‘It’s what I was always told, my ma said we could never go out because the light would destroy my beauty. She told him the same, it was part of the magic, you see and it works well for him, it keeps me in my place and it makes a monster out of me.’ 

‘Oh, Elijah, you are no monster.’ Sean rolled onto his side and reached out to stroke Elijah’s flawless cheek. 

‘You don’t know me,’ Elijah whispered, biting his lip.

‘I know it,’ Sean replied, his fingers running through slippery chestnut curls, light as feathers. 

‘Sean, you’re a nice man,’ Elijah sighed, his eyelashes fluttering closed. 

‘I never thought it was possible for me to feel this way about anyone…I actually thought I was incapable of love, I had no idea…’ Sean faltered, inexperience and anxiety making him clumsy. 

‘Haven’t you ever loved another man?’ Elijah asked bluntly.

‘I’ve never loved anyone, not in that way,’ Sean replied. 

Elijah frowned, ‘You must have been lonely.’

‘I filled my life with other things,’ Sean said bitterly. 

Nodding, Elijah lightly caressed Sean’s cheek. ‘You were scared of yourself.’

Sean closed his eyes. 

‘Sean?’

Looking up, he saw Elijah leaning over him, brilliant blue eyes boring into his like the heart of a flame.

‘Now I have looked it in the face, I can’t deny it,’ Sean murmured, a gold-grey halo framing Elijah’s head. ‘It’s so beautiful. I’m sorry I upset you…’

Elijah shook his head, ‘No, don’t say that.’

‘I won’t touch you again, not if it makes you unhappy.’

A small giggle erupted from Elijah’s lips, a delightful, surprising sound. ‘Why would it make me sad?’

‘Afterwards… you seemed uncomfortable…’ 

The smile slipped from Elijah’s face as quickly as it came. ‘It was myself I was unhappy with. Will you say you forgive me for it?’

‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ Sean smiled. 

Still with the shadow of doubt on his face, Elijah settled down beside Sean once more, but this time curled closer, so their bodies pressed together. ‘I like you touching me, as it happens,’ Elijah said, almost shyly. ‘Must I ask for another kiss?’

‘I’m sorry…’

‘Shhh!’ Elijah whispered, pressing a finger against Sean’s lips. ‘You’re always saying sorry.’ Tilting his head, he slowly drew his finger on, along Sean’s chin and down his throat. Sean was trembling so hard he felt the ground tilt beneath him as he leaned in to press his lips once more against that perfect mouth. Elijah didn’t seek to demand, merely moved his lips slowly back and forth, brushing and tasting, his breaths whispering half-words. Sean’s mind was singing, _bliss, bliss_ again and again, his body almost forgetting, hesitantly slipping away and then reclaiming, the caress deepening into something more. The first flickering touch of Elijah’s tongue was enough to send Sean sliding deep into warm heat; and then they were feeling in the dark, moving and moaning soft, beseeching sounds, arms reaching to pull and cling, bodies rubbing together, mimicking the arching movements of their tongues. 

When at last they drew apart, Sean’s face was wet with tears and Elijah held him close, whispering comfort. They heard the church bell toll the hour of five and Elijah, kissing the top of Sean’s head, began to grow restless.

‘What is it, Elijah?’ Sean muttered in confusion, on his hands and knees in the grass, looking up as Elijah buttoned up his damp tunic.

‘It’s nearly light – I need to be on my way.’ 

‘What?’ Stumbling to his feet, Sean grasped Elijah’s shoulder unsteadily. ‘Where are you going?’

Elijah looked confused. ‘Back to the tent.’

‘You’re going back?’ Sean was incredulous with shock.

‘Yes, I’m going back to him one more time,’ Elijah replied calmly. ‘But I’m safe now, I have you.’

Sean held on tighter, ‘I thought you had left him, left that place to be with me.’

‘Please Sean, let me go. I have to do this.’

‘I can’t let you go back to that place!’

‘Please.’ Elijah looked hard at Sean’s clutching hand and, seeing the fear in Elijah’s eyes, let go at once.

Hurt and confused, Sean watched Elijah step away. 

‘Trust me, Sean, I need to do this…he has taken so much from me, I want to bring him down. I will come with you, just not now, it’ll be light soon, wait until night falls again. There’s going to be a big show. I’ll meet you there after the show, behind the big tent, I’ll be ready.’

‘But you will be putting yourself in danger, surely! He is not worth this risk.’ 

‘I need to do this,’ Elijah stated firmly and Sean knew that there was nothing he could say that would dissuade him from his path. ‘And you need to go home and find a spare set of clothes for me and hire a carriage to take us away.’

‘Elijah!’ Sean held out his hand. ‘Lijah,’ he corrected. 

‘Yes?’ Elijah grinned, taking his hand, the mist breaking about their feet. 

‘I _will_ find you. I will not let you down.’

Elijah nodded, kissing him once more, tenderly on the lips. 

‘The day will pass quickly, you’ll see, it’ll be night again soon enough,’ he shouted as he began to walk away, down the sloping hill. 

Sean shivered at the thought of what the night would bring, the shadows beginning to cluster once more, whispering doubt. ‘I don’t want to let you go,’ he said, watching Elijah disappearing into the white cloud.


	11. Chapter 11

After the silent stillness of the country, London seemed unbearably hot and noisy. The smells of horsedung and poverty were so high, Sean was forced to hold his breath as the cab weaved and rumbled around the maze of streets, pushing people out of the road, detritus flying up around its wheels, the thought of being so far from Elijah making Sean’s stomach twist into convoluted knots. 

When at last the cab hurtled down Greenwich Street, and came to a halt outside the blank, grey face of the house that had been his home for the last five years, Sean almost failed to recognise it. Never before had its grand façade looked so grim and forbidding. Paying the driver, Sean stepped out onto the street and stood on his own steps, feeling like a stranger. He had loved this house once, buying it had been like pinning a badge to his sleeve, displaying to all the position and standing he had achieved. Now it seemed a hollow, gloomy place on this bright sunny day, and he felt travel worn and weary. The coach ride from the village crossroads down the long toll road to London had been stuffy and uncomfortable, a press of people making movement restricted. A thin, bony-elbowed parson sat beside him, his black coat smelling strongly of mothballs, jabbing Sean in the ribs with every lurching curve. 

Unlocking the impressive front door, Sean stepped into the hallway, hearing the chime of his own footsteps echoing on the tiles. The hallway was fussily decorated in heavy patterned paper and dark, lumbering furniture crowded the walls, expensive Chinese porcelain displayed within. Before him were a number of shuttered doors and a grand staircase with a twist in the middle. Several thickly-painted landscapes lined the walls in ornate gold frames. He had thought them the height of good taste, now they only looked ugly. 

Opening the door to his left, Sean entered the parlour. Several leather chairs sat about amidst a jumble of cabinets containing books and curios; antiquities, silver, porcelain figurines, artefacts, fossils and on top, cases and cases of stuffed birds and animals, their dead glass eyes fixing him with dead stares. On the table teetered a mountain of newspapers and periodicals, carefully arranged by his housekeeper, who had promised to save them for his return. The room had been dusted and smelt of the white lilies that sat on the polished mahogany table and on his desk sat a neat pile of letters, waiting to be opened. Remembering Stephen’s letter, sent to him at the White Cottage, with its talk of urgency and documents, unspoken deals that required his hand, he felt a twist of anxiety. It would not be as easy as he had hoped to slip away from this old life, too many tethers bound him to it. It seemed he had two selves now, one that belonged to the old, and another to the new, and he could not live in both, but had to choose and in choosing, leave no trace of all that was once Sean. The thought of the two worlds colliding was too strange to be borne. He had changed; he had changed so utterly he hardly recognised the trammels of this old life at all. It seemed so dark and cluttered and meaningless. When he lifted his treasures from the cabinet, his hands were smeared with dust. 

Leaving the parlour, Sean wound his way upstairs, passing closed doors, until he reached his bedroom. The bed had been made and his room spotlessly cleaned. Mrs Hope was a good housekeeper and a trustworthy friend of the family, she never asked questions, nor sought to pry, but carried out her duties quietly and efficiently. She didn’t raise an eyebrow when strange booklets began to appear about the house, nor made any remark on the visitors to Sean’s parlour in the evenings and the odd instructions she would receive, to keep noise to a minimum and draw the curtains tight. Hesitating for a moment, Sean cast his eyes over the smooth white shape of his wide, oak bed, so carefully made it bore not a single crease. It looked a chilly place to lie, the pillows as solid-looking as marble slabs, he could not imagine them moulding to a soft brown head; nor the starched sheets, so hard to press against pale, shining skin. 

Pulling out clean clothes from the wardrobe, Sean dressed hastily, eyeing himself in the full-length mirror, and wondering who this man was, with his eyes sparkling and his cheeks flushed, as if he was running a fever. Images of Elijah rose into his mind and for a moment he just stood and gazed at his own reflection, growing blurred before his eyes, wishing that somehow he might slip his own skin and float away to him, sliding inside his skin, close against his heart where he might hear its beat. Perhaps Elijah could sense his wish and was waiting as impatiently for him? Perhaps even now, in this cold room of whites and greys, he was watching with soft eyes, his hands moving invisibly over his skin. Sean shivered and closed his eyes, imagining the wonder of those loving hands touching him, bringing him back to life, as though he had been asleep in a glass coffin all these years, as remote as the spirits on the other side of the veil. 

Was it simply this that he had been seeking? This confirmation that he was worthy of love and that sin might be removed with a single kiss? Why had he sought for contrition and generosity from someone who had been incapable of such acts in life? Her shadow fell over him slantwise even now in the midst of his hazy desire, a memory of sharp authority, disapproval and unyielding, rigid beliefs. Her pale face a was a moon of grave sadness, her hands flinched from contact. An ambitious woman, widowed young, her hopes for her children were tall and onerous, and she had been proud of Sean’s achievements to the last, even as she sat up in bed, propped on pillows of white starched linen, with the newspaper in her bony hands, she looked him in the eye and said, ‘You were not to blame.’

With her death came release but also a terrible burden of unfinished hopes and conversations, which had dwindled and died, and no longer did Sean feel so certain of what he had come to think of as right. 

Although he never expected this reshuffling of the pack.

Recalling to mind Elijah’s request, Sean cast the old demons from his mind and began to sift through his wardrobe, searching for a suitable set of clothes which would fit the boy comfortably. All seemed too large and too severely cut. Beginning to despair, he cast suits out of the wardrobe and threw them onto the floor, one after another, until at last, hidden near the back, Sean discovered a soft dark blue jacket, pale dove grey waistcoat and trousers he had worn when he was seventeen. It was a little outdated in style, but Sean thought the fabric would suit Elijah’s fair complexion and brilliant eyes, and when he held it up, the size and fit seemed perfect. Wondering why he had held onto the clothes for all these years, Sean folded them neatly and laid them in a small trunk, along with a hat and a pair of soft leather gloves. 

Satisfied, Sean hurried down stairs and into the kitchen, forcing himself to eat something before his body began to let him down. After he had returned from the walk, Sean had been quick to wash and gather his belongings, making arrangements with Catherine for the approaching evening, and enquiring after the time of the coach that passed the village at an early hour in the morning, on its way to London. Catherine remembered the times and managed to direct him to the spot where the coach might be flagged down, close beside the standing stone. Sean didn’t have long to wait, and although the vehicle was crowded, he had been so thankful to be on his way and making steps towards his new life with Elijah, that he forgot the ache in his stomach, and the breakfast he had foregone. 

Grateful once more for Mrs Hope’s efficiency, Sean found food in the pantry and larder. He prepared a simple meal and ate at the kitchen table, chewing fast, barely tasting, exhaustion and excitement swimming in his head, plans and arrangements battling with visions of Elijah. Elijah, who seemed a world away here, a mere figment of his imagination, and when he thought back over the short time they had spent together, a sceptical part of his mind questioned his own sanity. He longed to return and make Elijah real once more, as real as the white china plate sitting before him, and yet it seemed as unlikely as stepping into the pages of a picture book. The house seemed to be shuttering around him, locking his dreams away so securely; he struggled to remember why he had come. 

Scraping back his chair, Sean carried the plates over to the sink and set them down. As he was turning back to reclaim his bags, he heard the front door creak open and then close with a sharp, rattling thud. 

His heart leaped with surprise, causing every nerve to reverberate. Walking into the narrow passage he called out, ‘Hello?’ his voice hollow in the silence.

‘Mr Astin? Is that you, sir?’

A rush of relief spread through him, as Sean recognised the familiar, hoarse notes of his housekeeper’s voice. ‘Mrs Hope?’

Entering the hall, he saw the housekeeper untying the ribbons of her bonnet. ‘I must say you gave me quite a turn there!’ she announced. ‘I didn’t expect you back – you should’ve sent word.’

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Hope, I didn’t have time. This is just a short visit, you understand, although I am planning to return. I see the house is all in order, thank you for keeping it so well.’

‘Well, not being sure what your plans were, and with my wages still sent regular as always I thought it best to look in everyday and straighten things out. I didn’t like to leave the place neglected. You look a bit out of sorts, Mr Astin, is everything quite well with your sister?’

‘Very well, thank you,’ Sean replied hastily, taking his coat down from a hook and pulling it on. 

‘Will you be wanting dinner?’ she asked, eyeing him suspiciously. 

‘No, no thank you, I shall be returning to my sister’s house before the day is out. Please, would you prepare the guest room and set a fire in the hearth?’

‘Are we to have visitors then, sir?’ Mrs Hope raised an enquiring brow. 

‘I believe so,’ Sean said, looking at himself in the mirror. 

‘Mr Astin,’ the housekeeper said, rather breathlessly, ‘I’ve been wanting to mention, there’s all your papers in the parlour and some letters on your desk. Some of them, I happened to note, marked urgent. Also, Mr Stokes has been most anxious to speak with you and has been calling regular in the daytime in the hope you might have returned. He asked if I might provide him with a postal address, through which he might contact you. Well, I wasn’t sure at first, I didn’t like to presume, but then when those urgent letters came and Mr Stokes became most persistent, I informed him of the place you were staying, I hope I haven’t done wrong?’

Sean’s heart lurched, sensing old ghosts beginning to wind out of the woodwork. ‘I left you in a difficult position, Mrs Hope. Do not concern yourself. I must go out now and attend to some business in the city. If you would be so kind as to arrange for a private carriage to be ready by five o’clock, I would be most grateful. Thank you,’ Sean turned to smile warmly at the grey-haired lady who stood motionless on the thick, patterned carpet, her eyes measuring and thoughtful. ‘I shall be back within the hour.’

~ ~ ~

There was a large crowd gathered in the fairground field as Elijah returned, crawling through a thin gap in the hedge close at the bottom, which Ruby had pointed out to him as being a convenient bolt-hole. Despite the early hour, the red sun having only just breasted the eastern hills and the night shadows still lying long on the grass, a good crowd were assembled close to the main tent, where much activity was taking place; the shouts and noise of workmen, only barely concealed by the calls of Brutus and Leonie, who stood on a makeshift stage set, announcing to the assembled men and women of the entertainments to come. Many of these onlookers were lingerers from the previous night, where drinking and gaming carried on until dawn. Mostly farm labourers between farms, they were making the most of that idle lull between hirings and harvests, draining their pockets of the last of their coin before the ripening of the wheat set them once more to the fields and the reaping. Some would not see next winter in and others were already talking of leaving for the city and the factories. This would be the last gaiety they would see for a long while and they were determined to enjoy it to the full.

They had the bear on the stage, tethered by a chain; he raised his muzzled mouth as he danced, flicking his head back and forth as if a fly was trapped in his ear. The people watched and shouted commands, tossing scraps of bread onto the platform, laughing at the strange, baffled animal as it lumbered on unsteady legs, moaning softly to itself. Leonie disliked the bear, being certain it carried lice and fleas, and always complained when she was set to work with the creature. Attempting to retain her mystery in the gathering harsh light of day, she skulked close to the curtains, shaking the chain with a wicked crack of the wrist, sending the bear teetering and lurching forwards, much to the excitement of the crowd, showing her teeth and roaring deep in her throat, twisting the rumbling sound around her tongue. She endured many cruel remarks, but set her eyes above them and merely snarled. 

Breathless, almost laughing, feeling more sunlight on his skin than he had felt for years and years, wallowing in it like a pig in the baking sty, he wove in and out of the wagons, avoiding the attention of roving eyes, aware of the state of his clothes and the grass still caught up in his hair. He looked at the lines of tents and stalls as if they bore no relation to him any longer, but were little more than pretty pictures painted onto the green canvas of the field. 

_Never again,_ he thought to himself as he stood beside the long, low tent where he had spent his days and nights for the past three years. Slipping inside, he determined this would be the last time he entered this half-lit world, already feeling the urgent warmth of the sunlight beckoning him back as he passed the shadowed booths to find his own little cage disturbed. The mirror was hanging aslant and the walls of his booth rent, as if by the dragging of tiny nails. Entering the booth, he found the chaise longue upturned and his jacket and belongings strewn across the floor. A broken lamp lay on its side, shattered fragments of glass littering the floor. A slow smile slid across Elijah’s face. 

‘So you’re back then?’

Elijah shuddered in his skin at the sudden intrusion. Turning round, he was relieved to see Ruby watching him with her dark eyes. She was dressed elaborately in red and gold, with bells around her wrists and ankles, and her dark hair fell untethered around her shoulders in snaky tendrils. 

Elijah grinned at her. ‘I did it.’

‘I can see that,’ Ruby replied. 

‘Was he very angry?’ Elijah asked, a brilliant excitement flashing in his eyes.

‘Oh yes, he turned the tent upside down looking for you, threatened the lot of us. What’re you doing back here?’

‘I haven’t finished yet.’ 

‘So you’re going to poke him a little more, are you? You’re not thinking straight, Elijah.’

‘I need your help, Ruby, will you help me?’ Elijah grasped Ruby’s arm, his fingers tightening. 

‘What do you want?’ Ruby frowned.

‘I’ve an idea how I might make a fool of him, set him up so all those folk out there will think him ridiculous, can you imagine?’ Elijah laughed. ‘I’ll play along right up until the last minute and then I’ll let him down, show him up for the fraud he is.’

Ruby shook her head, ‘You’re talking nonsense, Lijah.’

‘No, no, I’m not,’ Elijah continued. ‘All I need you to do is get me some of his clothes out of his wagon. Brutus will know where everything is kept, I’ll distract him, make some apology or other, while you’re in there.’

‘What’re you thinkin’?’

‘Have you see him? The scarecrow?’ Elijah cocked his head. ‘Over in the cornfield, standing yawping at the crows, no one’s scared of him, not even the birds, they all think he’s stupid, you see? He’s thinking they’re all shrinking from him, but nothing is, they all think he’s a turnip on a stick! That’s what _he_ is Ruby, that’s all he is - a rotten turnip on a stick!’ 

‘I wouldn’t laugh at him if I were you,’ Ruby said gravely.

‘Oh come on, Ruby, don’t be so stiff!’ 

‘If you’d seen how mad he were,’ Ruby went on. ‘You wouldn’t laugh.’

‘Will you do it? You will do it, won’t you Ruby?’ Elijah rushed, his eyes beseeching, glittering with feverish excitement. ‘You’ll get the clothes? We can do this Ruby, we can get out. There’ll be money in the wagon and other things, he won’t notice they’re gone, he’ll be too busy with the show.’

‘Elijah, this is madness,’ Ruby warned. ‘You’ve gone too far this time. Here…’ Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew the small blue glass bottle.

Elijah backed away, shaking his head. ‘Show me to him now, and I will lead him away from his wagon, make some excuse for where I’ve been, tell him I’m sorry for running away, he’ll believe me.’

‘All right but we do it now, no waiting until the darkness comes, I won’t go to him in the dark.’

Ruby seemed to jump a little as Elijah embraced her impulsively and pushed him away abruptly.

‘It’s all right, Ruby, I can bear it, it’s good to feel the daylight on my skin.’

‘You should be careful, Elijah,’ Ruby murmured. ‘You’re risking too much.’

‘I’m risking nothing, there’s nothing to lose.’

~ ~ ~

‘This way!’ Ruby grabbed Elijah’s arm and pulled him behind the animal wagons which rocked and creaked on their wheels with the movement of the restless beasts. within. It was still gloomy here, with the remnants of the night still lingering in the shadow, cool and damp.

‘He’s working with the animals today,’ Ruby said. ‘He has his mind full of a trick with the lions.’

‘The lions?’ Elijah frowned. ‘I thought he stayed well clear of those beasts, old Simon always trains them, says he has a mortal fear of them.’

‘I don’t know why, most of their teeth are gone,’ Ruby replied, tugging Elijah along. ‘Pussy cats really.’

Pausing at the steps which led up into the animals wagon, securely penned within by a wire enclosure, Ruby jerked her head. ‘In there, quick as you like.’ 

‘Good luck,’ Elijah said, smiling, already climbing the short flight of steps. 

‘Same to you,’ Ruby replied, unsmiling, as she watched Elijah climb up into the gloomy, humid interior, rank with the smell of the beasts. As he entered, Elijah blinked in the sudden darkness, looking about the training pen for a sign of Darke, but there was nothing but the lions, lying, blind with boredom, behind the wire in their dusty cage, gazing with sad, milky eyes. Turning to leave, Elijah put one hand on the door only to find it fly back in his face, causing him to gasp and fall heavily to the floor. As the door clicked shut, darkness sealed him for an instant, before it was relieved by the sliding of a window panel in the wall, letting in stripes of thin, barred light, illuminating spinning motes of dust and dirt. 

‘Elijah?’

Elijah raised his head, the chill sound of Darke’s voice creeping insidiously over his skin. 

‘It is a pity it has come to this, but if this is the only way I can keep you safe, then so be it. You’ve won, Elijah, you shan’t be walking the wire tonight, I no longer have need of you – you see you are not irreplaceable. Instead you shall stay here and consider what you have done. I shall keep the shutter open, so that I may keep an eye on you and be certain the beasts do not wear your skin. Goodbye for the present, little bird, there will be no more flying the nest for you.’

Shrinking back against the door, as far away from the window as he could reach, Elijah drew his knees up against his chest, kept his eyes focused on the passive rage of the lions and silently cursed his own naivety.


	12. Chapter 12

Sean was almost running in his haste, his heart hammering as he wove his way back through the noisy heat of the city, taking short-cuts along grim and dirty back streets he would never usually enter, in the hope of meeting no-one and speeding his steps back to Greenwich street. By the side of the embankment, the tall buildings loomed over the stagnant river and rough folk gathered in huddles in the shadowed spots out of the glare of the sun, watching him and shouting now and then, words that Sean could not understand, but made his footsteps quicken. By the time he caught up the road which intersected his own, rising slightly out of the thicker stench of the water he was breathless with anxiety and stumbling up the front steps like a drunk, cursing himself for his foolishness in not hailing a cab. 

Fumbling with his keys, he entered the cool dark of the hallway, pushing the door shut bodily and leaning with his back against it. Closing his eyes, he willed his breaths to calm. He would be no good to anyone in this state, least of all Elijah, who was depending on him. In his weakness, his mind groped for an instant in the darkness, as if seeking its habitual support, and he found himself feeling his way into the dining room like a puppet with broken strings. The velvet curtains were drawn, leaving the room in dusty gloom, all life suspended, like a theatre set awaiting the entrance of the actors. 

Crossing to the table, he laid his hands over the polished surface. Spreading his fingers, he remembered how the table had vibrated under his palm, shifting subtly, artfully, as if by his will alone. He had been amazed that he was capable of such things, it being far beyond the expected. His mind had grown soft, languid, as he let himself go, leaving all fetters behind, and when the revelations came, they made him gasp with their accuracy. It could free him, just as easily as Elijah could escape his earthly body and rise; like weeds on water. Sean found his thoughts becoming detached, moving at will, returning to buried places, old visions, unexplained hauntings. His eyes shot open and he stared again at that spot against the sideboard where the large-eyed boy had once appeared and again it seemed he saw him there, standing in a white night shirt, his face pale and troubled and Sean was struck by a change in his perception. This boy was not the image of Elijah at all; no, he was quite another boy altogether and he recognised him too well. 

In another moment, the vision had dissolved, and Sean became aware of the sound of footsteps passing on the street. Time was running on. He needed to get away from London and fast. Mrs Hope had hinted that Stokes might be on his way and Sean knew positively that a confrontation of that kind might crush his resolve altogether. Sliding a bulky letter out of his pocket, he laid it on the table, hoping that the contents might assuage his business partner, at least for the time being, although knowing his friend’s tenacity, it would hardly placate him long. 

A heavy knock at the door sent Sean’s heart lurching painfully as he realised the carriage was already here and he must go. Shutting the dining room door, Sean took pains to close every other along the hallway, until his past was effectively sealed. Then, after taking one last look around at all the dull, dead things that he once admired, he heaved up the trunk and opened the door onto the dull heavy heat of the afternoon.

~ ~ ~

The lions were growing restless, very likely it was getting close to the time of their training, when they would be fed, if they obeyed, on scraps of rancid meat. One, an old, grizzled beast, with a ragged mane, yawned, exposing a mouthful of broken, yellow teeth, and easing itself fluidly to its feet, began pacing back and forth along the full length of the cage, his eyes flicking as he did so, at the shape of the boy sitting, half-slumped against the far wall, his eyes still open, watchful and glinting in the shadows. The lion was no more interested in Elijah’s presence as he would be in a fly on the wall and continued with his restless walk, his motion making the dust fly up in clouds, huffing out one foul breath after another in his impatience and hunger.

Sensing the others restlessness, the second beast flicked her tail from side to side, growing softly in her throat, the noise filling the tiny space with a rich hum like moving velvet. 

Elijah was thinking and brooding. Leonie had spent years working with the lions, submitting herself to the trainer’s will, braving the touch of their huge paws on her belly as she studied and recorded their movements. Elijah struggled to remember all the tales she had told about her time with them, when to move and when to play dead, when to shout and when to stay silent. But he could think of nothing beyond Darke’s final words. It was what you asked for, he thought to himself, you said you wouldn’t do it and now he’s freed you from that, only to cast you into a greater darkness. Elijah fixed his eyes on the feet of the lion, counting how long it took for him to walk an entire lap around his cage. 

_You’ve been a fool,_ he said to himself. _It was his love - it made you feel there was nothing you couldn’t do. Ruby always said to trust no one, and she was right._

The day dragged into evening, voices sounded softer and more urgent, passing to and fro with last minute preparations. The light was ochre, the colour of old books and dust and the lion’s mangy coats. Elijah remembered how pale the sky had been at dawn, almost white as he lay on the hilltop, watching the clouds scatter and talking, telling a stranger things he had never told anyone, letting his secrets fly like a kite on the wind, feeling the pull of them before the release. There had been streaks of gold in his eyes, as if the sun had gilded them and when he finally touched him; his hands were so gentle they turned him to butter. Elijah buried his hands in his tousled hair, shivering despite the sticky heat, his mouth dry and his throat burning, as if he were ill or wanting relief. Feeling in his pockets for something he couldn’t locate, the frustration mounted until it grew so great, he could bear it no longer and threw his head back against the wagon, releasing a yell so full of thwarted anger and desire, the lions backed, cringing into the shadows and stared.

~ ~ ~

‘Sean! You’re back!’

Catherine stepped back into the hallway, relief and fear making her eyes glimmer strangely. 

‘I thought you wouldn’t come,’ she said, taking his jacket from him and peering out into the street. ‘Why does the carriage wait at the door?’

‘Cathy.’ Sean took his sister gently by the arm and steered her into the parlour, where she stood looking wild and lost, her hair, half unpinned fell around her shoulders. Sean lifted a strand and tucked it back in place. If anyone wanted to pin madness on her now, it would be hard to stand against it. ‘You must prepare yourself,’ he said, speaking to her gently, despite the racing of his heart. ‘The carriage is waiting.’

Catherine frowned. ‘We are leaving?’ 

Sean shook his head. ‘No Cathy, you are leaving. I shall stay.’

Catherine’s lips formed a silent ‘o’ as she turned away, staring into the empty hearth. 

‘Everything is prepared. I have arranged with Mrs Hope for your room to be aired and the bed made ready and I have been to the bank and made other arrangements regarding financial matters. There is money enough for you to do as you like, Cathy. I have all I need.’

‘I can’t go now!’

‘Why?’ Sean stood behind his sister, turning her around in his arms. ‘The sooner you get out of this place the better.’

Catherine’s eyes were filled with tears as she shook her head.

‘You are thinking of that man.’

‘I must say goodbye,’ she whispered.

‘No! You must _go_ quickly and silently,’ Sean felt a twinge of anger. ‘How can you even bear to think of him?’

‘You have no idea,’ Catherine spoke slowly, with weighted misery. ‘Of what we shared.’

‘I understand how an attraction can flare into passion,’ Sean said, his own heart twisting in response. ‘I know your heart is tender and easily broken and I know the false words of men. This will be hard to bear, but I must tell you plainly Cathy, this man means you only harm and he will do anything to get what he needs.’

With trembling hands, Catherine pushed her loose hair back from her face, where it clung to her wet cheeks. ‘Will he come, do you think?’

Sean stared at her, feeling the echoing ache inside himself. ‘I think he will.’

‘What will you do? Have you got the money?’

Sean shook his head. ‘You have no need to worry, Catherine. We will both be long gone.’

‘But won’t he hunt us down?’ 

‘He might try, but he won’t find us, he has no means.’ 

Catherine looked around the room, as if pressing the objects onto her mind like the impression of flowers into clay. ‘I won’t be able to return, will I?’

‘No,’ Sean replied, gently. 

‘I have loved this house. Not so many years ago I thought it close to heaven. It shall be no small grief to part with it, despite the cage its walls have become of late. I have grown used to the silence, it has almost become a part of my own skin and bone.’

‘Let yourself go, Cathy, it will be for the best.’ 

‘What will become of you?’ Catherine murmured, looking deep into his eyes as if scrying for his future. 

Sean felt an excitement stirring in his belly, ‘I’m not looking for the answer to that question anymore.’ 

‘Then I must pack a trunk and bid you farewell although it is not what my heart desires to do.’ With her eyes hovering on a single spot close against the window, she left the room, mourning ghosts that were already starting to diminish, their voices settling into the timbers and the plasters and the window glass, shrinking away to whispers.

~ ~ ~

The lions were bored and hungry. Sparks, the trainer, was keeping them keen for the evening’s performance so they might perform at their best, sharp and eager for the treats they would be dealt in payment for their tricks. Small flies buzzed and the air felt thick and stifling, sweet and rank.

Hurdy-gurdy music was playing from somewhere close by with Darke’s voice thrumming over the top of it, like a discordant fiddle, announcing the wonders on the bill one by one, each one more astonishing than the last. Elijah couldn’t hear the words clearly enough to be able to discern his own name, but he strived to mould it from the softer syllables, in the hope that he might be allowed the chance to perform. He couldn’t believe that Darke would find a replacement for him so soon; for who could perform such a task? And surely a walk on the high wire would be punishment enough for him? Unless Darke had been told of his plans. Elijah’s heart sank as he thought of Ruby and all that she knew. 

People passed by the wagon, close enough that they split their shadows across the floor, but all moved on and no one sought to speak with him or gain admittance to the lions. Surely someone would come for them soon? The King of the Beasts was one of the fair’s prize attractions, he wouldn’t be left here all night to pace at the bars. Sparks would come for them and he might take his chances then, find a way of overpowering him. Recalling the man’s bulk and thick, brawny arms snaked with sickly green tattoos, Elijah shrank against the wall. Never had he felt this weak and tired. It had been a long time since he had eaten and drank and no one had offered him anything all day, not even a sip from a bottle, which would at least have brought him sleep and ease from his fears. Watching the lions lapping noisily at their filthy trough he felt a flicker of envy. They were treating him worse than a beast. And then there was this other hunger, this gnawing thing that wouldn’t let him go, that made his head swim and his body tremble. It was greater than his fear of the trainer’s big hands and the claws and teeth of the growling beasts, it was greater than anything, and it made him cling to those last torn threads of hope like a drowning man.

~ ~ ~ 

_‘Welcome! Welcome! To the Greatest Show on Earth! Defy your senses! Believe the Unbelievable! Challenge your Perceptions! For One Night Only – Be Amazed!’_

Sean stood beneath a fluttering banner, looking at the mass of people before him, stumbling with their mugs of beer and cider as they took their tickets from the booth and entered the cavern of darkness inside the wide white tent. There were hundreds here, they must have travelled in from the outlying villages and towns on the new train line, they couldn’t all be locals; some families looked well dressed, holding tightly to their children’s hands as they swept through the crowds. A group of farm labourers were standing at a distance in the last of the dying sunlight, smoking pipes and watching Ruby dancing on her hands on a tiny podium. Children threw handfuls of daisies at her fingers, almost causing her to slip as she tipped her feet in a perfect sickle. Beside her, on a higher platform, stood Darke himself. At first Sean could only allow himself to listen to his voice, that alone made him set his teeth and stuff his fisted hands into his pockets. It was powerful and yet insidiously soft, and crept into corners of your consciousness you weren’t even aware of. Somehow it laid you bare, and although he was speaking of delights, the delights themselves sounded tainted and dirty, as if he were really laughing at them and at you, for your desires. 

Rounding the platform, he saw Darke’s imposing figure, dressed like a dandied physician in a long black frockcoat and top hat, a silver-topped cane in his hand. A silver monkey slipped along his back and around his shoulders, staring at Sean in surprise and baring its sharp little teeth. Tilting his head, as if listening to the monkey’s stuttered information, Darke looked around and fixed Sean in his sight. A thin, unpleasant smile slid across his face. 

‘Well sir!’ he said. ‘What delights we have kept for you – a man who knows a thing or two about this world and the next! All the great concert halls of London have been talking of our Phantasmagoria! It strikes the heart with fear and disbelief, sir! It has to be seen to be believed! Come in and take your pleasure!’ Darke laughed mirthlessly as his hard stone-grey eyes bored into Sean’s. 

Sean wished he had the strength to climb up on that platform and take the man down, but he must bide his time. Elijah would not thank him for intervening and perhaps getting himself arrested in the process. Then he would be no use to anyone. So Sean walked on, feeling the man’s gaze pinned to him as he stood in line at the ticket booth, trying to blank out the sound of Darke’s voice promising and taunting, and prising into his long, cold fingers into Sean’s heart.

~ ~ ~

It was nearly nine o’clock, Sean could just about see the pale moon-face of his pocket watch in the shadowy tent. Soon the man, Monaghan, would be walking down the empty village street and through the little gate up to the long, white house. He would take the knocker in his hand and bang it sharply, once, twice, three times, but he would gain no response, for there was no one there to hear it. The house was empty. Sean knew it wouldn’t take him long to discover this fact and then his feet would be carrying him here. Time was running fast. Sean sat close to the side of the tent, his eye on the narrow space between the benches where he might creep out, almost invisibly. At least Elijah was close, he clung to that thought as he waited for the lamps to die down and the entertainments to begin, half-dreading what he would have to witness, anxious only for it to come to an end. People were pressed up uncomfortably close around him, talking and laughing and whispering about what they would see, making coarse remarks about the curiosities. Sean felt their words like a cold knife in the heart and wondered how Elijah could have borne them for all these years. Looking nervously about him, Sean wondered what it was Elijah planned to do and hoped and prayed that it was nothing that might put him in danger, or provoke Darke to do something heinous. For now Sean had seen the man face to face he would put nothing past him. Feeling the sides of the enfolding tent cloistering in on him from all sides, Sean waited in nervous suspension for the show to begin.

~ ~ ~

The lions heard the voices first, growling like deep ragged thunder in the pit of their throats, and clambering stiffly to their feet. The male lion began to pace more quickly back and forth, his rheumy eyes peering towards the locked door, the female’s tail whisked with anticipation.

Elijah’s eyes flashed open and all at once he felt alert and desperate enough to try any trick he could think of, however foolhardy. It was late, the show had already begun, he could hear the music of the acrobats whirling and winding and the muffled cheering of the crowds. Elijah wondered if Sean was out there amongst them, his mind wandering as he watched and waited. He didn’t know what was worse; the thought of Sean waiting for him in vain or the thought that he might not have come at all, but have abandoned the idea at the last, finding it ridiculous. Either way, Elijah knew he must get out the wagon by any means possible and find out the truth. If there was any hope at all he would grab it and hold on. 

Voices grew louder, their rough accents more pronounced, growing in volume, becoming thick and urgent. It was almost like the talk of lovers but not quite. There was a dull thud as someone was hefted up against the side of the wagon, causing it to shake a little. 

‘I warned ya!’

Elijah heard a short gasp, followed by the sound of someone choking, as if the life was being squeezed out of them. 

‘Christ knows I gave ya enough time to get hold of it. Should’ve known you’d try and wriggle out of it ya slippery Irish bastard! You were a fool to come here tonight, ya should’ve run like yer’d got the divil behind yer.’

There came another deep thud and a groan. 

‘Shh! Someone’s coming…’

‘What’s going on here, then Davy-boy? What’s that little eel you caught, wriggling on your hook?’

The new voice was deeper and stronger than the other’s and when he spoke he laughed and choked as if his throat was full of smoke.

‘He owes me,’ Davy replied.

‘Oh dear, is that so?’ the older man chuckled. 

‘I’m thinking what to do with him. Caught him with a knife, creeping about the back o’ the tents, seekin’ me out he was, hoping to gut me. Luck would have it, I sees him first and knocks t’knife right out o’ his hand. You should’ve seen the look on his face! Thinks he’s clever you see – with his quick hands.’

There was a sharp gasp followed by another deep chuckle of laughter.

‘What do ya think? You could use the knife he so kindly brought to ye, or else you could take him down fields to the like and drown him quiet as a kitten, or if you’d be lookin’ for another way, you could hand him over to the master, he’s lookin’ for help tonight and would be glad of him.’

‘That’d be letting him off light!’ Davy cried.

‘Nay, nay, not light at all, as heavy as lead that penalty would be.’

There was a brief scuffle, followed by the sound of another voice, a voice Elijah knew as intimately as his own. 

‘What is this?’

It was a rebuke. Immediately, the boy – Davy – began to gabble excuses and apologies and the older man congratulated Darke on the good turn out. 

‘I hope you are not planning on murdering someone in my fair ground?’ Darke’s voice held within its light breath, unimaginable menace. 

‘No sir,’ Davy replied. 

There was a light shudder as a body slid down the side of the wagon.

‘This rouge is refusing to pay his debts,’ the older man informed. ‘We’re working out what to do with him.’

Darke paused for a moment, as if pondering the matter. ‘Hold him here, boy,’ Darke instructed. ‘Sparks! Lead the lions in.’

Elijah shot to his feet, standing close by the door, alert and filled with a sudden, frantic energy. His head was full of noise of it, like a thousand bells tolling for him. Heavy footsteps sounded on the steps, followed by the noise of a bolt being drawn back. 

Sparks entered the wagon, his great bulk blocking out the light. Elijah flattened himself to the wall, as if in the hope of making himself invisible as the big man’s eyes strained in the unaccustomed dark. Inch by inch, Elijah shuffled along the wall until he was nearly behind the man, the door just one step away, he could feel the sweet evening air on his skin, could smell the baying crowd and the smoke. 

‘You stay there, lad.’ Sparks hadn’t turned but sensed Elijah’s movements nonetheless. ‘Your master stands at the door. Now I’d keep yourself well away from these beasts, they look hungry.’

Elijah bolted. It was hasty and desperate, but the temptation of that chink of light was too much. Leaping out of the door, he threw himself to the hard ground with a sickening thud, rolling under the shadow of the steps. There was a roar of ‘hey!’ from within and a flurry of raised voices as Darke ordered Davy to take his prisoner to the main tent. 

‘I’ll deal with this one!’ he snarled and then with two smart paces, his sharp boots were aligned with Elijah’s face. ‘You can come out, Elijah.’

Elijah twisted the other way, looking at the green path between the tents that snaked away from him. Wriggling, he began to crawl out the other side, his face smeared now with dirt as his nails sank into the soft ground. He could feel the wagon rocking and lurching over his head as the lions were wrenched from their cage. Although he knew the futility of his actions, still freedom was so close now Elijah could almost taste it.   
‘This is foolish,’ Darke said gently. ‘You are not in your right mind, Elijah, you are missing your medicine.’

Elijah readied himself to run. 

‘Go!’ Darke whispered. 

Elijah dragged himself one foot and then froze as he felt a whisper of fur against his face and sharp claws ticking along his neck. He had seen the damage those claws could do, ripping through skin as though it were a ripe fruit, and he knew he was trapped. A word from his master and the animal would turn savage. Hot breath nipped his ear. 

‘Sensible boy,’ Darke smirked.

‘Let me perform,’ Elijah gasped, his face pressed to the ground.

‘No, Elijah, I have already told you, you are not to leave your quarters tonight. If you are uncomfortable in there, you may find my own more to your comfort. You are superfluous you see, I no longer have need of you.’

Elijah shuddered, recalling the feel of those long, cool fingers against his thighs. ‘I can do it,’ Elijah urged, his body stone still so as not to antagonise the animal. ‘I will make your show famous, I’m sharper now than I’ve ever been. I’m better without the medicine, steadier on my feet. I can remember all our training, all your words in my head. Please let me try.’

‘Come Isaiah!’ Darke called the monkey off and Elijah felt his passing as though a great weight had been hauled off him. He wondered if he had been reprieved, but Darke remained silent, his thoughts ticking almost audibly, reminding Elijah that his time was running out.

~ ~ ~ 

One act after another passed before Sean’s eyes, he barely saw any of it, experiencing the show in scraps of colour and sound and motion that dived and swooped and rolled before his eyes like fragments of a dream. All his mind sought and all it feared was a sight of Elijah.

Darke had not re-appeared since his grand introduction, having disappeared in a cloud of smoke, his coat tails swirling, as though he was the eye of a great and terrible storm. 

The show was reaching its crescendo, the dancers were spinning faster and the jugglers were throwing arcs of fire across the dark dome of the roof. In a sudden clash of cymbals all fell deathly silent. There were a few hesitant cheers and applause and then the lamps were dimmed, their greenish faint firefly glow casting up a sickly, haunting light. Eerie fiddle music began to stir and smoke plumed from the sides of the stage. A few people shuffled uneasily in their seats, unsure of what was happening and whether they would like it. Sean swallowed down a knot of sudden fear. 

Darke emerged from the smoke like a demon. He was smiling his thin smile, embracing the whole audience in his great black arms. Like a raven, Sean thought in distaste.

‘Now for the climax of this evening’s extravaganza!’ Darke announced. ‘As promised you will be asked to prepare your mind to believe in the unbelievable, to see once and for all the veil drawn back between this world and the next and witness the evidence with your own eyes! Yes! You shall see a spirit this night, conjured up from the will of your own hearts and your owns minds. You shall see it and believe! No more fear of life, no more fear of death. You will find yourselves utterly at peace.’

There were murmurings, this was unexpected and not everyone understood. Sean shifted uncomfortably, feeling the pin-prick of Darke’s eyes fixed on him as though he was a specimen trapped in a glass case. 

‘I will ask you all to hold hands and focus your mind not on this world and all of the wonders you have witnessed tonight, but on the other. Together we have great power, as though we were one being, our skins slipped one inside the other.’ Darke’s voice was powerful, soft and intimate. Sean could feel it as though it had reached out and stroked his skin.

A woman beside Sean coughed loudly and muttered something to her friend, her eyes flicking towards the seat beside her where an earnest young man waited, entranced, on the edge of the bench. 

Ruby brought a round table onto the stage. ‘See this table?’ Darke smiled. ‘It is an ordinary table, such as you will find in any good household. Plainly made.’ He knocked it and lifted it. ‘Come, come up and feel!’ He beckoned two young men up onto the stage and gestured for them to tap and lift the table to be certain that it was quite real. Having tested it thoroughly, the men ascertained that it was indeed a solid table of ordinary make. ‘Now put your hands upon it, spread your fingers and touch them together so that you form a circle. Do not urge the table forward, nor push it with your body, stand back and just allow your hands to rest there lightly. Good!’

Darke turned back to the audience, his teeth grinning whitely. ‘Now friends, take hands and think deeply on one you have loved and lost, a mother, a father, a friend, a loved one who has passed away…’

There was a collective shiver and ripple as the audience felt for the hand of their neighbour. Some people giggled, others coughed their embarrassment, some plainly refused. Sean accepted the hand of the red-faced young woman at his side and hoped the chill of his own palm didn’t startle her as he tried to abate his trembling. 

‘Look! See what is happening? This is your will!’

At first Sean could see nothing, only Darke staring into his soul, burning him. And then people started to shout and cry and a woman screamed. 

The table was hovering an inch off the ground, the startled young men who stood on either side of it gasping like landed fish, their eyes bright with amazement. Darke just kept staring, staring into Sean’s soul. 

‘Christ Almighty!’ A woman swore in front of Sean, pointing at the domed roof. ‘A ghost!’

The table was lurching in the air, spinning as if stirred by an invisible hand. Some members of the audience were on their feet, crying out in disbelief. Someone was screaming. 

‘A spirit!’ Darke cried. 

Sean looked up. There was something pale and drifting, walking in thin air, like Jesus on the water, like an angel, it’s face hidden by a deep white cloak, folded like a shroud, its arms were outspread, it seemed tormented. 

Sean flew to his feet. ‘Look out! He’s going to fall!’ The words flew out of him in a cry as seconds later, the figure lurched and began to plummet, the white robes streaming out behind. 

He didn’t hear the people’s cries, or the women’s high-pitched screams. He couldn’t feel the press of solid, running, pushing bodies as he wove his way down the benches, shoving past the obstacles in his path, ignoring their shouts and swears. Leaping onto the stage, he ran until he reached the body splayed out, face-down on the boards. 

‘Oh God, Elijah!’ Sean gasped. _‘What have you done?’_


	13. Chapter 13

Sean knelt beside the fallen ghost, his hand hovering above a crumpled hood of white linen, afraid of that moment of revelation when all of his hopes would be smashed to cold hard splinters.

_Why this? If he wanted to destroy the performance surely there could have been a better way than to destroy himself in the process? He had seemed so full of hope this morning; when he said goodbye his eyes had shone, and why had he arranged to meet after the show if he had no plan to survive it? Perhaps it had all been an illusion, like the card trick and the enchantment in his eyes._

Sean felt frozen, the outer world utterly dead, moving soundlessly as though underwater. He sensed Darke standing close beside him, he could seem of the gleam dancing off his pointed boots and hear the high, keening shriek of the confused monkey, and yet he may as well have been alone in a desert of darkness. 

His heart numb with fear, its beats as thick and slow as the pendulum of an unwound clock, Sean took the crumpled fabric in his trembling hand and began to draw back the hood.

As soon as the first inch of fabric was lifted, Sean realised his mistake. The hair uncovered little by little was not the anticipated dark black curls but fair and cut shorter around the neck. Some of the longer hair stuck damply to the side of his face and as Sean drew the hood completely away, he tenderly pushed it back. What he saw made him still, his hand still resting on the side of the man’s cheek. A low groan escaped Sean’s lips, mingled relief and distress as he recognised the face lying pale and stunned before him, his grey eyes gazing as if they held angels in their sights, his lips pinched blue. Sean’s heart turned to Catherine and he shook his head sadly, keeping his fingers where they lay, soft across the man’s cheek. 

_‘Useless.’_

Sean raised his head at the sound of the voice at his shoulder. 

‘Absolutely useless. I should have taken the boy at his word. Get that man away from here…get them all out!’

His shoulders clutched firmly in a broad pair of hands, Sean found himself being forced away and pushed from the stage, back into the throng of people who were rushing closer to get a glimpse of the dreadful tragedy, finding themselves a step nearer to that other world than they had ever imagined. A large, tattooed man was ushering people out of the tent, barking at those that lingered on. Reminding himself why he had come, Sean saw his chance. Seeking a clear path through the heaving mass of bodies, he grabbed his pack from where he had left it beneath the bench and ran for the thin sliver of light. Bursting out into the open air, he ran behind the tent, swaying a little on his feet, feeling the swallowed down nausea rising in his throat as he remembered the sight of the young blacksmith, his body broken and thought of his sister’s tears. However greatly he had loathed the man he still felt the horror of his death rattling through him like a cold fall of rocks and he couldn’t quite fathom what he had been doing up there on the wire in Elijah’s stead. 

‘Mr Astin?’

Sean turned in surprise at the sound of his name whispered in the darkness. 

‘Ruby?’

The woman nodded briskly. She wore the same long dark cloak she had worn that night she had delivered her message to Sean’s door. Her eyes darted about anxiously as if she were in grave danger. 

Beckoning, her eyes flashed. ‘Come with me!’ 

With no other option but to trust in this woman who had helped them before, Sean followed her closely, weaving in and out of groups of milling people, all talking animatedly about what had occurred, some in tears, others in great excitement. 

‘Over here!’ she hissed, grabbing his arm and pulling him along behind her. They were leaving the wagons and tents behind them and walking on into the warm dark, so still there was not the slightest breeze, only the smouldering threat of rain in the heavy air. The hedge reared up before them, the grass long and swishing about their ankles. The darkness was deep and cool under the hedge and smelt sweetly of wild flowers drenched in dew. There was barely any moon that night to see by; the clouds lay so thick. 

‘See? I told you wouldn’t let you down, not again.’

A shadow propelled itself forward and flung itself at Ruby, embracing her tightly. Ruby swayed a little on her feet and ran her fingers through soft ripples of hair. ‘Dear Lijah,’ she sighed. ‘I couldn’t bear to lose you – we’ve been together so long. I didn’t think he meant to keep you there, I thought he’d let you go after a bit, let you come back to us and perform in the show. I’m sorry…can you forgive me darlin’?’

‘It’s all right,’ Elijah said softly. ‘It’s all right now.’

‘I let you out, didn’t I?’ Ruby half-sobbed. ‘I got the key.’

‘Yes Ruby,’ Elijah rocked her gently. ‘Thank you.’

Stepping back and pushing Elijah away, Ruby wiped her nose on the back of her hand and stuttered a laugh. ‘You’d better go before he notices you’re missing. I’ll try to keep him off your tail but you’d best be quick nevertheless, he’ll be raving mad. Good luck to you.’

A thought struck Elijah and he gripped his friend’s shoulders tightly, ‘Won’t you come with us, Ruby?’ 

‘No love, I can’t do that. I wouldn’t know where to go or what to do with myself when I got there. I like to know what I’m about. Go on now, don’t you go losing precious time on my account!’ 

‘Are you sure, Ruby?’ Sean stepped forwards at last, concerned for the girl’s safety.

‘Yes, I’m sure,’ Ruby nodded. ‘Now go! Under the hedge is your best bet and over those hills. There’s a village two miles east and plenty of shelter along the way. God bless you both.’

Elijah kissed Ruby softly on the cheek, smiled at her and looked to Sean. Sean shook her hand gratefully and then turned to his lover with a sigh. ‘Ready to go?’ 

A brilliant smile lit up Elijah’s face and he held out his hand. Nodding once more in farewell, Sean took it gladly and together they threw one final glance at the lights of the fair.

~ ~ ~

As they walked over the wide meadow, hand in hand, Sean’s pack bumping on his back, they didn’t speak, but concentrated hard instead on the pace of their steps, their ears keen for any sound of pursuit. But there was nothing, only the cry of an owl swooping low over the bordering fields of ripening wheat.

The air was so close Sean was not surprised when he felt the first heavy drop of rain kiss his cheek. Elijah stopped still in the middle of the field and tilted his face to the sky expectantly. One, two, then more drops fell faster and faster until they were dripping down Elijah’s face, soaking into his thin tunic and trousers, plastering his hair slickly to his head. Sean just laid his pack down at his feet and watched, entranced. Never had he witnessed anything so beautiful and free, it was like watching an animal that has spent its life in a cage and never felt the heat of the sun on its skin, nor the beat of cool rain, experiencing the fullness and the richness of life. It made him all the more aware of his own senses and the goodness of that cool water soaking into his hot, sweat-drenched skin. Throwing off his jacket he too allowed the rain to cool him, drenching his shirt and falling into his eyes and mouth wildly. He laughed and Elijah laughed with him and for a while they stood there together under the lowering sky. When the first rumbles of thunder began to growl and the sky was torn by a bolt so white and ragged and stark above the trees, Sean feared it was right overhead, he suggested they find shelter. Elijah mentioned noticing an old barn in the field beside them, so they scrambled over the wall and ran for the cover of the ancient stones. 

By the time they reached the shelter, they were dripping wet and panting and flung themselves on the hard stones in relief. 

Elijah pushed the wet curls from his eyes. His cheeks were very pink and his eyes glistened with rain.

‘Thank you,’ he said, briefly, surprisingly.

Sean was puzzled and reached out to tuck a stray hair behind Elijah’s ear, the first contact he had made since meeting once more. Sean felt a little bashful, almost shy. 

‘For what?’ he said, with a soft smile.

‘For coming,’ Elijah replied earnestly, his eyes full of storms.

Thunder cracked ear-splittingly loud overhead and Elijah winced. Sean drew him close. Elijah’s body felt very slight in the crook of his arm and he shivered faintly. Pressing a kiss to the top of the boy’s wet head, he whispered, ‘You are wet, my love, you should change your clothes before you catch a chill.’

Elijah shivered again, but harder this time. ‘Yes, perhaps you’re right. You’ve brought the clothes?’

‘Yes,’ Sean smiled, reaching down to unfasten the pack at his feet and draw out the garments inside, hoping Elijah would approve his choice. 

Elijah’s eyes darted nervously to the door. 

‘Don’t worry, I’ll keep watch.’ Sean rose and went to stand in the doorway, looking out into the sheeting rain. Now and then a flash of lightening illuminated the landscape in a ghost-light. Flat sweeping fields and stands of trees as far as the eye could see. Once it would have terrified him, now he felt only excitement and wonder, infinite horizons unfolding before his eyes, moving ever onwards, urging him on. 

As he turned back, the interior of the barn was suddenly lit up by a shock of white light and Sean was struck by the sight of Elijah bending to pull on his trousers, completely naked, his skin absolutely pale and flawless like the image of the moon drowned in a lake. 

Flushed, Sean looked away, focusing his eyes on the rain, watching the lightning move away, forking over the distant hills, the thunder softening to rumbles.

‘Well, what do you think?’

Sean turned. A wide sweet smile spread across Sean’s face. As he had hoped, the fine clothes suited Elijah very well, although they were very different from his usual exotic attire. The sight of Elijah looking completely the gentleman was quite a revelation. 

‘You look very fine,’ Sean grinned. 

‘Like a dandy?’ Elijah did a twirl.

‘Absolutely,’ Sean agreed, holding out his hand and drawing Elijah close. 

‘They’re wonderful – thank you!’ Elijah pressed a brief kiss against Sean’s lips and Sean enfolded him in his arms. ‘So smooth!’

‘All warm now?’ Sean whispered into Elijah’s wet curls. 

‘Yes,’ Elijah replied, rubbing his damp face against Sean’s neck, sending delicious shivers up his spine. After a few moments, Elijah seemed to pause and grow still; his lips still pressed close against Sean’s ear. ‘Ruby told me someone died tonight.’

Sean clutched Elijah yet tighter. 

‘You can tell me,’ Elijah went on. ‘I won’t be afraid.’

Sean’s voice was hoarse. ‘It was the village blacksmith. I thought it was you.’

Elijah pulled back a little to look up into Sean’s face. ‘Me?’

‘On the wire. I could see how it was done and I thought he had made you do it and you were punishing him for it. I remembered what you said about your fear of heights and I thought you had fallen to spite him…’ Sean’s voice was strangled as the fear reared up once more inside him.

‘Fallen?’ Elijah repeated.

‘Didn’t she tell you – he fell from the wire.’

Elijah’s arms dropped limply to his sides, his face lost in confusion. ‘But where was the net?’

‘The net?’ 

‘There should’ve been a net there to catch him. So fine it was almost invisible to the naked eye, but it should’ve been there.’

‘Perhaps it was forgotten?’ Sean watched as Elijah began to pace.

‘No, no it was someone’s job…I know it, I just can’t quite remember…’ then he stopped and froze, all the colour draining from his face. ‘The boy Davy, Sparks’ mate. He owed him money, didn’t he? The cocky smith? He wanted him dead. I remember seeing him around. He thought he was God – thought there was nothing he couldn’t do. Once he climbed one of the big wagons and balanced on the top to win money from a bet. He thought he was light-footed, but he was an idiot.’

‘You think this boy – Davy - did it on purpose?’

‘I heard them talking. He wanted to murder him. Was this man a friend of yours?’ 

Sean shook his head, determined not to tell Elijah anything more than was needful. ‘Do you think Darke knew of this?’ As much as he hated to speak the man’s name, he had to know the truth.

‘No, I don’t think so. He wouldn’t have wanted his Grand Performance to end like that. He was just looking for someone to threaten me with. A decent enough performance would’ve been enough and had he drifted into the net then that wouldn’t have been the end of the world, so long as the lights dimmed down fast enough, in fact it might’ve added to the effect. I bet he’s raging mad now, ripping the place apart looking for me, so’s he can tear something to pieces…’

Elijah’s eyes looked wild with fear and he bit at his nails viscously. 

‘Then we should go quickly, so long as we put enough miles between us we will have half a chance of getting away. But we’re vulnerable out here in the open; we need to get to civilisation as soon as possible. We must find the nearest inn and lodge there for the night.’ Even as he suggested it, his stomach turned over in anticipation and as he looked at Elijah he could see the same desire reflected in his face, dissolving the fear. ‘I think the rain is easing now.’

Dark clouds scudded across the sky, moving away. Remembering Ruby’s directions they bore east, walking side by side, their hands clasped, their steps in time as they moved with one purpose. Both felt the weight of the death upon them but they wouldn’t speak of it again, instead they focused their minds on their journey’s end and the bright lights of a welcoming safe house. 

It must have been growing late, for by the time they saw the first glimmer of a light on the brow of the hill, their steps were beginning to falter and they almost stumbled as they looked up, trying to measure the distance. 

Sean stroked Elijah’s cheek, a wisp of a caress. ‘Are you tired, my love?’ 

Elijah closed his eyes, breathing softly, ‘Let’s keep walking.’

~ ~ ~

The inn was still busy despite the late hour. The bar was packed full of men sitting around cluttered tables, playing cards and smoking pipes and the sound of lively music drifted through from a second room towards the back of the inn. There was a brief hush as Sean entered, Elijah following close behind, staying in Sean’s shadow, flinching from the clamour and the men’s hard looks. He could feel their eyes burning him and he grasped at Sean’s arm, feeling suddenly very sick and faint. Sean seemed unaware of Elijah’s distress, marching determinedly up to the bar to address the landlord. Shrinking against a corner of the bar, Elijah tugged his hat low on his head to shade his face, biting his nails nervously, his eyes on the dusty floor.

He was relieved when Sean returned, a smile on his face as he announced that he had booked a room for the night and had ordered hot water and food to be brought up to them. The room would be ready in ten minutes, in the meantime he suggested they take a seat in the back room and have a drink. 

Elijah was glad to leave the stuffy, crowded bar and enter the relative peace of the cool, dark panelled room. A group of musicians were practising at one end of the room and a few drinkers sat about to hear them and lend their voices at the chorus, too absorbed in their tunes to take much notice of two strange gentlemen sitting in the settle in the corner, drinking quietly. 

‘Did he ask any questions?’ Elijah asked, sipping his ale in fast gulps, his eyes wide and wary.

‘No,’ Sean replied. ‘He was just glad to see my money on the bar.’ Sean set down his mug. ‘Besides,’ he continued, glancing at Elijah with a smile. ‘It was the only room available.’

‘They’ve all been to the fair,’ Elijah whispered. ‘Will they know me, do you think?’

‘No Lijah,’ Sean reassured him. ‘Not dressed in those clothes, they will see you only as the gentleman you are.’

Elijah smiled softly and seemed to relax a little, allowing his head to rest against the back of the settle. Sean longed to slide his arm about him and pull him close, but he knew he must be patient and so contented himself with stroking the inside of Elijah’s wrist within the soft kid gloves, tracing the thin pale blue veins that lay so close against the surface of the skin, as delicate as flower stems. 

‘Excuse me sirs.’

Sean looked up. A maid stood beside their table, dipped a curtsey and lowered her eyes. 

‘Yes?’ Sean smiled warmly at the girl.

‘Your room is ready for you sir, if you’d like to follow me.’

‘Yes, thank you,’ Sean replied, his heart turning a somersault.

~ ~ ~

‘Is everything all right for you, sir?’

The maid hovered by the door, watching as the two men looked around the cosy room, taking in the large bed with the wrought iron bedframe, the crackling fire and the wash stand laid ready with soft towels and white soap. There was food set out on a low table beside the fire, alongside a large jug of ale and a bottle of dark red wine. It was obviously the finest room the inn had to offer although it was still shabbier than the rooms Sean had grown accustomed to – the walls were papered in an old fashioned print and in one top corner it was beginning to blister away from the wall. The furniture was tired and dusty, and yet in that moment it may as well have been a palace. Elijah was looking around gazing at everything in delight. 

‘It’s perfect, thank you,’ Sean smiled, pressing a bright coin into her palm.

Blushing, she curtsied once more and then swished out of the room, closing the door behind her. 

‘I’ve never been in a room as fine and grand as this,’ Elijah grinned, running his fingers over the backs of two soft green chairs, leaving little runnels in the dust and then turning to the bed to throw himself upon it, sighing as it moulded to his body. ‘A proper gentleman’s bed! Heaven!’

Sean began to unbutton his jacket, smiling at Elijah’s boyish delight. ‘Are you hungry?’

‘Starving!’ Elijah groaned, pushing himself up and jumping off the bed. 

Kneeling on the carpet, he tasted all the foods on the tray one by one, not bothering with the knife and fork but using his hands. He ate fast and didn’t pause until he had tried each of the many dishes Sean had ordered. Mid-way through a soft, ripe peach he paused in his chewing and looked up. Wiping the sweet, sticky juice from his mouth with the back of his hand, he saw Sean looking down at him in affectionate surprise and stilled. 

Immediately, Sean felt conscious of how hard he had been staring at the boy and stuttered an apology. ‘I’m sorry,’ Sean said, turning away to lay his jacket on the end of the bed. ‘I didn’t mean to stare.’

‘That’s all right.’

Elijah moved close behind him, close enough for Sean to feel the sweet hot puff of his breath against the sensitive skin on the back of his neck. Instinctively, his head drooped forward as if silently begging for more and his fingers clutched the iron bedframe tightly. Elijah licked a long, shivery stripe up the back of Sean’s neck and Sean’s blood turned all at once to molten honey and he moaned softly.

‘Aren’t you hungry?’ Elijah whispered, stepping back to take another bite of the peach. Sean turned and saw Elijah was holding the fruit out to him. ‘Have a taste – it’s sweet.’ 

Sean could see that Elijah meant to him to take it from his hand and suddenly that seemed the most intimate thing that Sean had ever been asked to do and he was all at once clumsy and shy. Sensing his discomfiture, Elijah drew the peach away and instead, took Sean’s face in his hands and kissed him slowly, little by little easing the tension away with small licks and sucks and gentle persuasions of his tongue. Soon Sean was responding eagerly, his own tongue rising to meet and play with Elijah’s until they were kissing so deeply their jaws ached and they forgot the need to breathe. 

‘So was it sweet enough?’ Elijah asked, his eyes sparkling as he pulled back from Sean’s embrace and took another sucking bite of the fruit.

‘Yes,’ Sean breathed, so bewildered and lost in new sensation he could barely form a response. 

Tossing the peach stone into the fireplace, Elijah stalked back over to the table and poured them both a drink. ‘Do you want some wine?’ Holding up the dark bottle, he frowned at the contents. ‘I’d rather drink beer, it reminds me of him – I can still remember the smell of it on his breath and the way it stained his lips, like blood, it reminded me of vampires.’

The sudden shock of Elijah’s words woke Sean from his reverie and he paled for a moment as the sense of them began to sink in. ‘Elijah – Lijah - he didn’t harm you did he? The man...’ Sean swallowed, knowing he must learn to say it. ‘Darke – he didn’t…use you…’

Elijah poured them both a mug of beer and drank some of his; leaving Sean’s on the table, in no hurry to answer the question.

‘He tried his hardest,’ Elijah said at last, a small crack forming in his bright animation, clouding his eyes as he drank. ‘But I was cleverer than him and he hadn’t banked on that. He thought he could control me, but no-one’s ever been able to hold me. Yes, he laid his filthy hands on me but it stopped there, I wouldn’t let it go any further. He wanted to again tonight. He threatened me and locked me in his wagon with all that pretty coloured glass and paintings, pouring me the dark black wine, but I didn’t drink it, I smashed it against the mirror, watched it turn the room red. He was coming back for me after the show, but Ruby came first. She had a key, Darke had given it her and forgotten. She let me out, said she’d find you for me and get us out. I think she felt guilty for locking me in with the lions…’ Elijah poured himself a second mug. 

‘You were locked in with _lions?_ ’ Sean was frozen with horror. 

‘He’d have done much worse than that, believe me, he’s an evil bastard. You have no idea.’

Sean shook his head slowly. ‘If I had known the things this man is capable of I would never have let you go back to him.’

‘You wouldn’t have been able to stop me. No one can control me, remember, not even you.’

Sean felt suddenly sorry for his harsh words and quick judgements and, feeling shaken, took the proffered mug from Elijah’s hand. ‘Thank you,’ he said, drinking deep, the warmth running through him pleasantly. Then he frowned once more. ‘You said _Ruby_ locked you in with the beasts?’

Elijah nodded. ‘She thought she was doing the right thing. She was trying to stop me hurting myself. She doesn’t trust me, you see, thinks I’ll lose my head and go running into something worse. And she didn’t trust you, not until I told her, there in his wagon, how kind you’d been and how you’d never even laid a finger on me ‘til I’d asked for it.’

Sean smiled as he remembered his hesitant kiss. ‘But you’ve forgiven her?’

‘Yes, I forgave her. She’s a nice girl, Ruby.’

Sean realised there was no point feeling hurt and angry for Elijah’s sake, he had his own mind and he had already forgiven her and forgotten. He would have to learn these new rules, as difficult as it may be.

‘I don’t know how you have borne your life. I fear I would have crumbled a long time ago. You amaze me,’ Sean spoke softly, putting his mug down on the table, watching as Elijah sank down into a chair, suddenly weary. ‘You make me feel very weak.’

‘I could never have done this without you,’ Elijah said, closing his eyes. ‘Not many men would’ve dared to mess with a man like him, or take on a freak like me come to that.’ 

Sean knelt at Elijah’s feet and rested his head on his knee. ‘You look so tired,’ he sighed.

Elijah ran his fingers through Sean’s hair in slow patterns, when at last he spoke, his eyes were shining. ‘Lets go to bed.’

~ ~ ~

Taking Elijah by the hand, Sean guided him to the wash stand, standing behind like a valet to strip off his waistcoat and slip the braces from his shoulders. Elijah lifted his arms and Sean untucked the shirt from the loose waistband of his trousers that hung a little low about the hips, and drew it off over his head. Sliding his hands down the warm silken skin of Elijah’s back, Sean trembled with desire. Elijah hung his head over the bowl. Reaching around, Sean took up the sponge and, dipping it in the bowl of water, gently washed first Elijah’s hands and arms and then his neck, soaking away the stains of his travel and care. He turned him so that he might clean his face and Elijah stepped back, hitching himself up onto the marble edge of the wash stand, so his legs dangled. Now they were the same height and as Sean touched his face lightly with the damp, rose-scented sponge, they gazed into each other’s eyes, their breaths quick and fast and their eyes dilated. Elijah opened his legs and pulled Sean in so that their noses brushed together and he raked his fingers deep in Sean’s thick hair.

‘God!’ Elijah swore, biting his full lower lip between his teeth and Sean understood, lifting the boy off his feet and carrying him over to the bed. Laying him down carefully on the pillows, Sean hurriedly splashed water over his own face and rubbed his hands clean in the soap, leaving it to drown in the scummy grey water as he began to unbutton his shirt with shaky hands. Tearing it off in frustration, he threw it down on the floor, leaving it in an untidy heap as he climbed onto the bed beside Elijah, who was waiting, half-naked, his heart almost visibly pounding in his chest. 

Leaning on one elbow, Sean looked down at Elijah adoringly, his fingers stroking the softness of his cheek and the plump damp lips that opened to him so readily. Elijah’s eyes looked a shocking shade of violent blue and his hair, still damp from the rain, was as black as night. He thought of the fairytale of Snow White and the woman who had wished for such a child as white as snow and black as a raven’s wing, the most perfect thing in creation, and suddenly he was afraid.

‘It’s all right, Sean,’ Elijah whispered. ‘Just lie with me.’

The rain had started to fall once more. The room had darkened to fireglow and they could hear the patter of raindrops against the windowpane. Sean lay down close to Elijah, their hips brushing together and their arms wound tightly around the other’s neck. 

‘You’re not afraid of me, are you?’ Elijah asked, his breaths tickling Sean’s ear.

‘No!’ Sean laughed, then fell quiet. ‘I think I am more afraid of myself.’

‘Why?’

‘That I will not be able to show you how very deeply I care for you…’

‘There is a trick to that,’ Elijah smiled. ‘Don’t think about it, just use your senses. You’re good at that, you can sense all kinds of things others can’t. I think you could touch me with your mind. Yes, see? You’re already holding me, moving with me, rubbing yourself against me. And now you’re kissing me so deeply I can feel you in my heart.’

Sean laughed breathlessly until he felt a wave of lust wash over him, wracking him, making him still.

‘See? It’s easy.’

‘Yes,’ Sean sighed, brushing his lips against Elijah’s ear, making him wriggle and push his groin up against Sean’s, which was bulging painfully against the seam of his trousers. Irritated, Sean pushed his hand down and unbuttoned them, dragging them off his hips and kicking them off his feet. Dressed only in his thin underlinens, he knelt on the bed beside his lover, aware of the evidence of his desire and Elijah’s gaze sliding across it lazily, his lips falling open. 

‘Take mine off,’ he instructed and Sean attended to him at once, his fingers fumbling a little with the buttons as he tried to slip them from their holes. Once undone, Elijah sat up and tugged them off, casting them to the floor. He wore nothing underneath. Sean had packed him some underclothes but it seemed he had chosen not to wear them and his erection lay flushed and long between his legs as he knelt with his knees splayed before him, his arms reaching out. Sean tried not to look, but he couldn’t help himself, he had never before witnessed another man’s full arousal and he was fascinated and stunned by the sight of it. Elijah saw the shock in the other man’s eyes and with slow deliberation, took himself in hand and pumped slowly, staring so hard he saw Sean’s eyes begin to glaze.

‘Come here,’ he urged, holding out a hand. Sean staggered on his knees until they were once more face to face. ‘Here.’ Elijah pressed himself, burning heat and silk, into Sean’s palm and then wrapped his own hand around it, stroking once more, quite forcefully, up and down. Sean felt as if his hand were another part of himself and he was merely observing, intrigued and amazed by his own boldness. 

‘Kiss me,’ Elijah gasped. Sean closed the gap between their lips, sinking in immediately, tasting sweet fruit and malt and that dark salt that was desire. Their tongues moved and stroked and so did their hands, rolling over the rippling flesh until Elijah suddenly tensed and gripped Sean’s hand hard over the straining head as his orgasm pulsed through him and spilt warm, sticky fluid over Sean’s cupped palm, running through his splayed fingers. Elijah was panting and when Sean pulled back to look at him, he could see his eyes were closed and his head tipped back as if in ecstasy and he was amazed and thrilled to know that he had brought him to such indescribable pleasure. 

He reached down and grasped his own erection, which was now tenting his underlinens. There was a damp spot, where the tip had strained to reach Elijah’s own flesh. In another moment Elijah was holding Sean’s hips, his fingers light, stroking beneath the waistband, inching them down. ‘Let me,’ he begged and Sean allowed his hand to fall away and Elijah to reveal his nakedness. 

He expected Elijah to take him in hand at once, but instead he merely touched Sean’s full arousal thoughtfully with his fingertips, and then lay back on the pillows, his hair spilling darkly on the white linen. Sean saw the silent invitation in his eyes and followed, covering him with his body and kissing every inch of pale, flawless flesh that his mouth could reach. Elijah twisted beneath him, hot and sweaty and lithe, emitting little gasps and mewls of pleasure as Sean suckled on each pearl-pink nipple before moving on to nibble at his navel and swirl his tongue in and out of the hollow there. Elijah was hard once more, his youth and eagerness renewing his desire at once and Sean paused there to take the smooth column into his mouth and taste it curiously. Elijah’s legs bucked up and his knees clamped around Sean’s head, hips thrusting. Sean huffed a breath through his nose and swallowed. Elijah cried out sharply and immediately after followed a thud from the adjacent room, causing the boy to snigger and thrust his fist into his mouth. Sean smiled and sucked a few more times, laving him with his tongue, before moving on, kissing down the inside of each thigh, until at last he caressed small and delicate feet, as beautiful and sensitive as every other part. 

When he blinked up, Sean saw that Elijah was biting the pillow to keep himself quiet and his hair was sticking to his cheek with a thin layer of sweat. He looked at Sean. ‘Don’t stop!’

Sean sighed, moving back up, stroking and adoring as he went, pausing here and there to press a kiss to a favourite spot. Kissing Elijah’s lips with deep tenderness, he smiled at him and swayed on his elbows, gazing down. 

‘What would you have me do?’ he said. ‘What do you like?’ For now he knew that Elijah was experienced in these matters and had no fear of facing it. 

‘Remember what I said?’ Elijah urged. ‘Don’t think – just _do_ it. What do you _feel_ you want to do and see if I like it too.’ 

Elijah wrapped his legs around Sean’s hips, rocking back and forth, their arousals brushing together, making sharp sparks of desire shoot up Sean’s groin. Suddenly he knew what he wanted, but he didn’t know how to name it.

Elijah groaned, pushing up. ‘You see, this is the problem with gentlemen, they can’t bring themselves to speak crude words. Hard words. There’s no shame in them…’

Sean buried his face, pressing it into the dark privacy of the pillow. 

‘Say it!’ Elijah whispered, circling his hips, jolting flame, the sweat from their bodies sliding together. 

‘Inside,’ Sean huffed, the word hot in the belly of the feather pillow. 

‘Sean!’ Elijah cried out, forgetting the need for quiet. 

A thud from next door stilled the frantic writhing of their bodies and shook Sean from his fug of shame. He raised his head and drowned deep in Elijah’s eyes, sensing their eager will. ‘I want to be inside you,’ he said, quite calmly. 

Elijah let out a long breath, taking Sean’s fingers in his and pulling them to his lips. Sean was surprised to feel them being sucked hard, made wet with Elijah’s saliva. Elijah’s other hand reached between their bodies and, clutching their arousals together in one slippery palm, jerked several times and rubbed his palm around Sean’s erection, making it slick.

Pulling Sean’s wet fingers from his mouth, Elijah guided his hand down. ‘Pillow!’ he breathed and Sean hesitated for a second before reaching out to grab one. He looked at Elijah questioningly. ‘Under my arse,’ he said, making Sean smile. Having positioned him comfortably, Sean settled himself between Elijah’s thighs, his elbows still bent on either side of his lover’s head as he looked into his face, hoping at every moment to please and not to pain. 

Elijah nodded, his eyes wide and serious. ‘Go on – I want you to, please.’

Sean circled and caressed with hesitant fingers, moving as slowly as his desire would allow, always checking for any signs of embarrassment or distress, but Elijah looked utterly open and calm, although there were signs of concentration about his brow. Sean pushed a finger in and waited, seeing Elijah flinch and then relax, his body accepting him, warm and tight. Pushing two more fingers in, he grew bolder and moved them, pressing and circling, absorbed in the clasp and release of the body beneath him. Sean became increasingly aware that Elijah was distant and quiet and for an instant he remembered what the boy had told him about drifting away, leaving his body behind, and he felt a jolt of horror that this might be what he was doing. Stilling the motion of his wrist, Sean looked deep into Elijah’s face. Elijah thrust out a hand and cupped Sean’s cheek, his eyes still tightly shut. 

‘It’s all right, I’m here – just need to concentrate – that’s – all!’ he gasped hoarsely. 

‘Shall I move again? Do you like it?’ 

‘Yessss…’

Sean did as he was bid, stroking and stretching and feeling the pull and the give. Soon Elijah was responding to his touch, tiliting his hips as if begging for more friction. Brushing against a particularly sensitive place, Elijah groaned and bit down on his lip so hard it turned white and Sean knew that now was the time. 

‘Do you…do you want me to come in you now?’ Sean asked, his heart pounding so hard he could barely hear his own words, he wanted this so badly. 

‘Yes, oh God! Yes, Seanie…’

Smiling at the pet name, Sean forgot his fears and positioned himself eagerly, pressing in with ease, his slick flesh moulding into the boy’s so fluidly, he was soon buried as far as he could go. Leaning forward on his elbows, Elijah’s knees about his ears, he kissed his gasping mouth softly, whispering endearments, broken words that sounded like lover’s sweet nothings. This was no sin, this act of absolute trust and love. It was a blessing.

Afraid to move, Sean lay still. He could feel the pounding in his flesh and the hot fire of his blood, surrounded entirely by his lover’s body, accepting and welcoming, clinging tight. 

‘Oh!’ he sighed, running his tongue across salt-sweet lips. 

Elijah rolled his eyes and moaned, his hips twitching impatiently. ‘Oh Christ! Oh Fuck!’ he swore and Sean forgot to be shocked but merely bit his lip and pushed forwards tentatively. 

Elijah inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring, his hands clutching Sean’s shoulders so tight his nails would leave crescent-shaped marks. ‘Fuck, Seanie!’ 

‘Am I hurting you?’ Sean asked in concern, stroking back the wet hair from his cheek.

‘No!’ Elijah almost shouted. ‘No!’ he laughed, then grated, ‘Just do that again!’

Sean did it again and then once more, delighted by the small mewls of pleasure the motion elicted from Elijah’s throat. The pressure and the shock of intimacy were so intense, Sean was not sure how long he could sustain this slow, deep caress, but as it was bringing Elijah such obvious pleasure he hoped he could bring him once more to climax before he began to fail. Grasping the bedframe above his head, Elijah braced himself against Sean’s thrusts, gritting his teeth and grunting with the effort of restraining his cries. Elijah’s thighs, shining with sweat, slipped down Sean’s hips and Sean shifted their position, pulling them both upright for a moment, so that Elijah let go of the bed and threw his arms around Sean’s neck, tugging him in for a kiss, which was to end abruptly in a moan as Sean sank deeper than before, tugging Elijah’s legs about his waist. 

‘Oh!’ Sean sobbed, thrusting up faster now as a new urgency overwhelmed him. ‘I love you so much.’

Elijah clutched at him desperately, biting his shoulder as he felt his second climax seize him. Sean held his lover tightly as he trembled and then sank lifeless against his chest. Kissing Elijah’s sopping hair, he turned them gently, so that Elijah lay once more beneath him, blinking as if in a bright light, his cheeks flushed and his lips swollen. He looked at Sean as if he had stunned him. 

‘Elijah?’ Sean questioned, stroking his face.

‘What…what you said,’ Elijah stammered. ‘Before…’

‘What was that, my dearest?’

Elijah drew a shaky breath. ‘About _love_ …’ He seemed to find the word difficult, his throat constricting around it. ‘You said…you said you loved me.’ The words spilled out fast.

‘I did,’ Sean agreed, circling his hips slowly, making Elijah gasp once more.

Elijah put out his hand to stop him and Sean ceased at once. ‘Were you…were you just saying it? You know, because we were fucking?’

Again, the rough word shocked him, but he swallowed down his alarm and tended instead to the pain and worry in Elijah’s eyes. ‘I love you, Elijah,’ Sean said, calmly. ‘I have never loved anyone in this way, I didn’t think it possible.’

A tear slid down Elijah’s face and Sean caught it with his fingertips. Sean smiled warmly. ‘You do believe me?’

Elijah swallowed. ‘I think so.’

‘I will never leave you,’ Sean said. ‘Not unless you want to go and then I will let you fly, I won’t cage you like a precious bird.’

‘No! I won’t want to go, I never will!’ Elijah cried and gripped Sean tightly, his hips moving once again, pulling Sean in so that he fell once more into ecstasy. ‘Come in me. I want you to…’ 

With a groan, Sean let himself go, arching up into the pleasure, shattering as if he were made of thousand tiny pebbles which had spilt and flung themselves a thousand miles wide. He broke apart and he thought he would never fit together again. The world had changed so utterly, and so had he. When he reformed, he would find himself a different man.

~ ~ ~

Elijah was restless. He lay wakeful, hypnotised by the dancing orange patterns the dying embers of the fire were throwing upon the ceiling, turning the week’s events over and over in his mind obsessively. Now and then he would turn to look at Sean, who was sleeping peacefully, the lumpy eiderdown resting across his hips, one hand pressed against the side of his face, the other flung out as if to be certain that Elijah was still with him. They had been lying entwined for a few hours, but Elijah soon grew too hot and uncomfortable and had slipped out carefully, so as not to wake him. He looked down at his lover. He had never thought anyone would speak those words to him, those words that still brought a warm enfolding comfort whenever he thought of them, although he barely knew their meaning.

 _Who are you?_ He asked quietly, wonderingly. _I barely know you._

Climbing off the bed, Elijah walked over to the window, drawing back the curtains and staring out over the dark empty fields, watchful for a light or the sound of wagons on the road. There was nothing, only the sleeping dark and the trees bending slightly in the rain and wind. A small lantern, hanging over the inn door, creaked as it swung to and fro. Darke would be stripping the tents bare by now in his search for him, but no matter how many bottles and glasses and mirrors he smashed, no matter how he might threaten and rant and rage, he would never find him. Perhaps the local constabulary had arrived, investigating the death? Perhaps he was already in ruins. Elijah shivered; even the thought of the man turned his blood to ice. 

Looking back into the room, he watched Sean sleeping peacefully, his face stripped now of all care, warmed by firelight, his body golden and shining, and Elijah shook his head in disbelief, a strange, creeping doubt stirring within, as though a cunning voice was whispering in his ear. 

What could this beautiful man want with him – a workhouse boy? And if he planned to take him back to London – then what? Was he to spend his days in the guise of a servant, standing to attention whenever friends or associates came to call? They would look at him, stare at his face as brazenly as the punters who came to peek, and he would have no more power to avert their gaze than if he were still in the booth. 

When the people had gone, Sean might come to him and kiss him, perhaps invite him into his bed, but that would be all he could offer. If they walked together down the busy streets, over the empty bridges in the dead of night, he should look no better than a rent boy, despite his fancy dress.

Elijah looked again at the bed and the space in the crook of Sean’s arm, which still held the impression of his body. He wanted to believe there was a way they might be together, but right now it seemed suddenly futile and hopeless. Already he had ascertained that Sean was a man of business, who had many working beneath him, surely he must return soon to his work? And what would there be to occupy Elijah’s days? Hours of solitary sitting and staring out of windows onto a lonely street, waiting for Sean’s return. He would soon grow insipid and lonely, bad tempered and longing for the companionship of friends. In the end he would be certain to disappoint Sean. Whatever he thought him to be, he would never be anything more than the workhouse boy who was sold by his mother for a pittance. At least at the fair he had a role to play and a kind of dignity. At least he was worth something.

There was still time. He could spare them both much grief by leaving now. He looked down at the cast off clothes that lay in a heap on the floor and bent to pick up a shirt. Dressing as quietly as he could, Elijah went over to the table and poured himself a drink. There was only the wine left, so he drank some of that, despite its bitterness. His heart ached so badly he was nearly sick, so put the mug down and wiped the wetness from his face. His hands trembled, his vision lurched and suddenly he fell to his knees with a thud, knocking the bottle of wine from the table so that it glugged all over the floor in a blood-red lake, oblivion sweeping over him like a black-winged bird.

~ ~ ~

Sean was woken by the sound of something falling. His senses alert, feeling for Elijah and finding him gone, he leaped from the bed into the darkened room. At first he couldn’t make out the shape lying beside the table and then, as realisation dawned, he ran and pulled Elijah to him, holding his clothed body against his own naked skin and rocking him tightly. Elijah was breathing, although his body was trembling and loose as a puppet. Sean covered his face with kisses, urging him to wake, saying his name over and over like an incantation. Eventually there was a faint flicker as Elijah began to open his eyes.

‘Oh thank God! Elijah, I was worried…you must have fainted…’

Elijah looked deathly pale, so Sean lifted him in his arms and carried him back to the bed where he sank gratefully into the soft mattress, pulling the eiderdown up to his chin and drawing his knees up. Sean sat beside him, stroking his hair. 

‘What were you doing, my love?’ Sean said, his eyes baffled and soft. 

Elijah closed his eyes against them, his heart lurching painfully. ‘I was leaving.’ 

‘Leaving?’ Sean could hardly believe it; an icy fear gripped him and his heart seemed to stutter. ‘Why Elijah?’

The boy swallowed, his jaw tightening. ‘You can’t love me.’

‘Why would I have come this far with you if I couldn’t? If I didn’t know absolutely that that was the one thing that I _could_ do with all my heart and soul? The one thing that meant anything!’

‘It might mean something _here_ ,’ Elijah’s voice was toneless and quiet, ‘But not in London town.’

Sean shook his head in denial, twisting his fingers in Elijah’s curls, hating this.

‘You may say these nice things here, in this other place, but once we’re out of here there can be no way we can live openly together, not with everyone knowing your name…’

‘I have left that life behind Elijah, I have no wish to return to it.’

‘You say that now!’ Elijah sobbed. ‘But how can I believe you? I don’t know anything about you! All I know I’ve found out from the cards and that was pure luck. I know you’re a kind man, I know you have money, I know something went so bad you turned to ghosts to rid yourself of the guilt. Tell me! Tell me something that’ll make me believe you really mean it!’

Tears were streaming down Elijah’s face and Sean felt his words like arrows in his flesh. He was right. He hadn’t been honest and open, in fact he had told him less about himself than Elijah had revealed to him in intimacy. Why should Elijah trust him? And yet he was so unused to speaking of these private things aloud, Sean found it difficult to begin.

‘You are right,’ Sean said, cradling Elijah against his chest and rubbing warmth back into him with his hands. ‘I should tell you something. You half guessed it that night.   
The night you read the cards. You came so close you frightened me…’

‘I’m sorry about that,’ Elijah murmured. ‘I was cruel.’

‘No – don’t - you had your reasons. You said you saw dark mansions with many rooms, hundreds of windows blazing. That was the mill at Lancaster, by the river on the edge of the town.’ Sean drew a breath before proceeding, calmly with his narrative, never once pausing or flinching from the truth.

‘We made linen there on machines that had to be tended night and day to keep them running fast. The workers grew weary but we spurred them on. We hired an overseer – his name was Blunt - and he worked them very hard to get the orders finished. We knew of this from our offices in London. Some of the workers had complained, but we didn’t think too hard about it, we were just pleased the work was being done and the money was flowing smoothly. We tried not to think about the dirty side of things. After receiving a letter from a learned man, a philanthropist, who, after having gleaned some talk of unrest, spoke of looking into conditions of the workers in the factory - whether they were given their entitlement of rest and lawful hours - I travelled up to Lancaster myself to see that all was as it should be. 

The overseer – Mr Blunt – met me at the gate and shook me by the hand, then he led me inside and up a long, dark, winding flight of stone steps. At the heart of the mill I could hear a thrumming noise, like the restless pacing of a great, hungry beast. Despite my line of work, I hadn’t spent many hours in the factories where the products I traded in were produced and the shock of the noise and heat and dust nearly overpowered me when I entered the long room. Although there were many windows, the mill was quite dark within and groaned to the creak and snap of the many machines that were working in unison. 

The workers had been told to carry on with their work as I made my inspection, so most only bobbed their heads or gave me a wary glance as I passed by, my hands clasped tightly behind my back, trying not to cough in the haze of flax which drifted in the air. I spoke to one woman, a pale, forlorn lady she was, her hair the colour of the dust she worked in. I asked her how long she had worked that day and when she was due to leave. I asked her if she had eaten her dinner and whether she had taken any rest. She told me she had and that she was due to leave ‘at tea time - after the bell.’ I asked her if she was content and happy in her work and she said, ‘yes, she couldn’t complain.’ I smiled at her and told her to continue with her work and she dropped her eyes and took up her tedious labour once again. By the time I had walked all the way around the factory floor and observed the monotonous, aching work of hand and machine I felt weary and heavy-footed, as if I was carrying a great burden on my back and I wanted to leave that place as quickly as possible. I spent a moment speaking to the overseer, telling him firmly that he must be certain that all the workers were given their entitlement of rest and that no safety measures should be undercut. He promised me this would be the case and once more shook me by the hand. I have never been so happy to leave a place in all my life, but as I rode away, it seemed I carried the weight of it with me, like a heavy chain around my heart. I wrote to my colleague, Stokes, that all was well in the factory and it seemed to me that poison was flowing from my pen, the words sounded so false, even to my own ears. I stayed that night in a hotel, but planned to return to London, and my offices, the following morning at daybreak…’ 

Here Sean paused in his narrative, his attention drifting. Elijah raised his head. ‘What happened?’

Sean steeled himself. ‘There was a commotion. In the night. Voices on the street, running footsteps and a bell ringing and ringing. I went to my window and pulled the curtain back and I could see the sky was thick with smoke and red stained on the horizon above the church. Pulling up the sash, I leaned out and breathed the choking smell of burning ash. There was screaming from a distance away, many streets, I couldn’t see the flames, but I heard the women crying. Even now, I still hear it.’

‘It burned?’ 

‘A spark caught on the flax, a scrap of ember clinging to someone’s shoe. It was enough. There were too many people working, there was such a press they couldn’t get out. The stairs were blocked by smoke and there was no other way out. Some women threw themselves from the high windows others were consumed by smoke. The overseer had seen fit to lock the door.’

‘Then it’s _him_ that’s to blame, not you!’ Elijah cried. ‘Everyone knows what mean bastards those overseers are.’ 

Sean shook his head ‘I played my part. You can leave if you want to, I wouldn’t blame you if you did, no one can despise themselves as much as I do. I ran away. I couldn’t bring myself to return to the office. I told Stokes I was unwell and going to the country to rest for a few months. He hopes to build a new mill, it was his inheritance, you see? Our families were close and he knew I was good with figures so he asked if I would help him run the business, but I want nothing more to do with it. Everything I own feels tainted by those deaths… I was cold in my heart, Elijah. I tried to search for meaning and for reason, but all I found were unfeeling ghosts and memories I had buried too deep.’

Elijah kissed him softly on the side of his jaw. ‘There, you’re warm now.’

Sean buried himself beneath the quilt, holding Elijah close. ‘Have you ever heard of the man who can make himself disappear? I want to be that man. I want to leave no trace behind me…and I want to take you with me Lijah.’

There were fresh tears in Elijah’s eyes as he took Sean’s hand and held it tightly. ‘What will we do?’

‘Tell me where you want to go,’ Sean dragged Elijah on top of him once more, kissing him deeply.

‘Anywhere!’ Elijah breathed. ‘Anywhere!’

‘Where did you dream of during those long dark hours?’ Sean asked, kissing him again and again. ‘Where you did you fly away to? ’

Elijah laughed and wriggled in his arms, ‘Oh… Venice?’

‘Then we shall go there.’

‘To _Venice?_ ’

‘Why not?’ 

‘I don’t know!’ Elijah grew thoughtful and then smiled mischievously. ‘Will there be lemons growing on trees?’

‘Perhaps not in the city, but I hear the country of Italy is very beautiful and full of citrus trees. I could take you there, find a lemon tree, pluck down a fruit, cut it with a knife and squeeze the juice between your lips.’

‘Would I sit beside you, on the flowery grass?’ 

‘Yes, under the sunlight, on the warm grass, I will lean over you and suck the sourness from your lips.’

Elijah snuggled closer, running his fingers up and down Sean’s chest, his lips forming a very slight pout. ‘Do you mean it?’ 

‘Of course. I have been back to the bank and settled my accounts. I have withdrawn all the money we need to start a new life abroad and left my sister Catherine, the London house and enough money to keep her in comfort for as long as she requires it, along with a fund of money for the provision of those families in Lancaster. Lijah, there is no reason why we should not hire a carriage and set off for the nearest port tomorrow.’

‘Seanie?’ 

Sean smiled broadly.

‘Do you like me calling you that?’ He added.

‘Yes, as it happens,’ Sean grinned. 

‘You won’t ask me to hide away, when we are gone from this place. You won’t be ashamed?’ Elijah’s brow was furrowed in a frown.

‘I will never be ashamed of you. We might need to act cautiously when we are around strangers, I would hate for anything to happen to you because of my love, but in Venice we shall find ourselves disguised. It is a busy, shadowed place, we will be safe there, I promise. Anyway, you look tired love, you should sleep. I am worried about you already, you see? I shall never stop worrying about you I know…’

Elijah lay back against the pillows, watching the firelight fading to embers, trying to ignore the shivers that attacked him now and then. 

‘Your eyes,’ the puzzlement in Sean’s voice shocked Elijah back into wakefulness. ‘Your eyes look… different, lighter somehow.’

‘It’s the laudanum,’ Elijah voice was a whisper of silk. ‘It’s wearing off.’ 

Suppressing a moan, Sean enfolded Elijah in his arms, burying his face in soft curls, murmuring, ‘Never again, never again.’


	14. Chapter 14

****

EPILOGUE

He looks as if he’s made of light, standing before the open window in the early dawn, his naked back half-shadowed, defined, as though someone has taken a brush and painted his skin in shades of gold and grey, sweeping over firm muscle and bone, lingering here and there, forming an architecture of hollows and arches. His arm is crooked as he measures the distance between the bridge and the water, the other hangs relaxed by his side, brushing against loose, white linen. Light pours through his fingers and dances around his head, changing it from black to gold; a kind of alchemy.

Every morning he tries to capture the light, setting his easel close to the long, narrow window and waiting for the moment when the bridge casts its swans-wing shadow over the surface of the still water. Pensive, he stands, waiting, holding his brush ready, his paints smeared across the palate, and slowly, fleetingly, the sun slips between the tall buildings and lies across the bridge. Then he paints as quickly as he can, and all of that building stillness is turned to animation and the muscles in his pale-gold back ripple and flex like the tiny ripples on the water below. Absorbed in his task, he will push his long, loose hair back behind his neck in agitation and sometimes Sean will come up to him to tie a loose ribbon around it, his fingers coming away smeared with ochre.

But most often he just sits against the bed head and watches and waits, the white sheets pooled around his waist drenched in warm sunlight, trying to capture the sight of his lover painting the shadow of the bridge. Sometimes as he watches he will drink strong, black coffee from a chipped gilt cup, or eat a soft peach, ripe and collapsing with sweetness, but usually he remains completely still. He doesn’t attempt to speak.

The sound of women’s voices calling echoes across the canal, water splashes against the walls as a boat steers past, sometimes birds startle, their feathers rustling as they cross the window to perch up on the high rooftops. Distant bells ring from one of a hundred and forty nine churches.

But hard as he tries, Sean can’t capture it. Somehow it manages to slip away, as though it doesn’t want to be remembered. 

However, some memories remain. The first time Elijah opened his eyes, after he had slept for a week, believing himself still in that dark place. 

Sean had not left his bedside for a single hour, but had sat and waited patiently, the long days drifting in and out of consciousness like the turning tides. It was a mellow autumn day, the bells had rung out twelve o’clock, summer already fading, but leaving behind a lingering sweetness. Red leaves drifted on the still water. Birds sang on the balcony outside the window. On the cracked ceiling, the reflected water danced in pools of light, for Sean had thrown open the shutters to let in the warmth of the day. 

‘Sean?’

Hearing Elijah’s voice for the first time in seven days felt like a miracle and Sean clutched his hand in eagerness, his face flooded with smiles.

‘You’re awake,’ he said, his thumb stroking the upturned palm.

Elijah yawned and stared upwards. ‘Where are we?’ 

‘In Venice, my love.’

‘I knew that,’ Elijah replied sleepily, ‘by the light.’

‘People call it The City of Light. The light in Venice is unlike any other place.’

‘I’d like to paint that light,’ Elijah said, carefully sitting up, wincing a little at his weak, protesting muscles. 

‘Slowly, slowly,’ Sean reprimanded, pushing cushions and pillows behind Elijah’s back. ‘Many people before you have said the same.’

‘Of course, I can’t paint.’

Sean laughed. ‘Then you’re in the right place to learn.’

Elijah’s eyes travelled around the simple, ivory-painted room, showing signs of age and neglect but still elegant, its high, ornate ceiling betraying its former beauty. ‘We’re really here? This isn’t paradise?’

Kissing Elijah’s hand, Sean stood up and walked over to the table to bring water and bread made with olives. Elijah managed to eat and drink a little and then laid it down on the dusty floor, turning back to Sean and winding slim arms around his neck. 

‘I’m more hungry for you,’ he whispered.

‘I was so looking forward to you waking,’ Sean said, brushing his lips back and forth across Elijah’s warm neck, delighting in the feel and the taste of it. ‘I wanted to share it with you.’

Elijah threw back his head to receive his caress. ‘How long have I been asleep?’ His eyes look different here; a purer shade of cerulean, like the Italian sky. 

Sean’s reply was punctuated by kisses, ‘Since we arrived on the boat... You fell asleep in the cabin and would not wake… I thought it best not to disturb you, it seemed you needed to sleep, so we rowed you down the canal in the night, wrapped in blankets… and then I carried you.’

Elijah smiled at the pictures in his head and then looked yearningly over to the window behind Sean’s shoulder, where an oblong of sunlight lay aslant across the tiled floor. 

Noticing the direction of his gaze, Sean smiled. ‘Do you want to come and see? I can help you if you like?’ Climbing to his feet, he offered Elijah his hand.

Shrinking back against the headboard, Elijah drew his knees up against his chest, making Sean flinch at the shock of seeing the old hurt in this peaceful place. He climbed back onto the bed at once. ‘What is it?’ he urged.

‘The light,’ Elijah twisted the word into something dark. 

‘The light is beautiful, Lijah, it’s welcoming and warm, and it will do you nothing but good.’

‘Should I be afraid of it, Sean?’ Elijah asked solemnly. 

Sean let out a long sigh. ‘You should put those fears behind you, love, they have no meaning here.’ Pulling Elijah gently to his feet, he supported him as he swayed, one arm around his shoulders, the other around his waist. 

Elijah pressed his face against Sean’s chest. ‘It wasn’t real, was it? I wasn’t real.’ 

Sean wrapped his arms around his lover and held him until he stopped trembling and the tears had dried to salt traces on his cheeks. 

Eventually Elijah grew still and raised his head, ‘I’m ready now.’ 

So Sean let him go, standing back as Elijah walked slowly to the window and stepped out, feeling at last, the invigorating beauty of the sun as it soaked through his sweat-cool, crumpled night shirt and caressed his pale skin. He turned up his face and closed his eyes and Sean leaned against the window frame and watched as a cloud of white birds streaked across the cerulean sky, racing to the cool hollow of a bell tower, his heart flying with them. 

Sean leans over to take a ripe fig and pinch it so the thick, red juicy seeds and flesh split through the purple skin. He licks it from his fingers idly watching the confident way Elijah is flicking his brush over the duck-egg sky, dashing clouds. There is a streak of blue across his cheek but he will not know it until Sean steps close to wipe it away. Elijah is trying to capture the light and claim it for himself, but he will not win, for it will always escape him, so he will try and try again until canvases stand inches deep against the walls. 

He woke once, in the night, gasping and pale. Sean felt his fear like ice shards in the air. ‘I’m nothing!’ he said. ‘I’m a lie.’ 

Sean gripped him so tightly he left red marks on Elijah’s skin, which he was sorry for in the morning. ‘You are beautiful, Lijah! You are so much more than they could ever see.’

They made desperate, hard love that night and the moon fell cold over the sheets. 

In the morning, they walked out into the sunlit streets and crossed seven bridges and seven squares and Elijah found a painting in a church that stole his heart. He sat on a pew for three hours and memorised every colour and form and when they returned home, he drew the picture on the wall beside the bed with a piece of broken chalk. 

Once they went out in the night. There was a carnival in the streets and although Sean felt wary, Elijah wanted to go. It was a moonless night and very dark, Elijah slipped his hand into Sean’s, hidden beneath their heavy cloaks and smiled under his mask. In the dancing, whirling heart of the square, beneath the spinning black winters sky they embraced, dancers skirting around them, holding them close in their circles of flying skirts and tangled arms. Music made them dizzy and then Elijah cried out as suddenly the sky was scorched with silver flowers bursting and dying in endless patterns, making a canvas of the night. 

Later, Elijah lay face down over a shifting mound of pillows, fig-sticky   
fingers crumpled in loose feathers. Music drifted in through the window, as the carnival played on, but their masks had been discarded hours ago. Honey pooled over the small of his lover’s back as Sean watched it run, chasing it with his tongue. Elijah cried out his love again and again and Sean re-made him with so much sweetness it ran onto the sheets.

Long nights drifted into days of sun-washed sleep and words and patience, rocked by the water and the boats that passed. 

Such patience. There is time enough to wait forever. 

Laying down his brush, Elijah senses his lover’s gaze and turns, his face finally at peace.

‘I’ve finished, my love,’ he smiles content, ‘at last.’

 

****

The End


End file.
